Rowan the Troublemaking Thief
by K.A. Mist
Summary: So there's this guy, Brynjolf recruited him because he saw that he was skilled. But he did not foresee the troubles that follows... Basically a humour story with a non-linear storyline. Warning: sexual content, malexmale
1. Where Brynjolf turned into a babysitter

**A/N: This is a very random story, pretty much my attempt at a crack. The chapters are in no chronological order and are also non-linear, depending on what is written. Whatever the chapters are will be mentioned at the beginning, the warnings will also be mentioned. As of now, this chapter is part of the normal storyline, featuring Rowan and also mentions of sex.**

* * *

Brynjolf rubbed his eyes as numbers began to swim before his eyes. He sighed as he flipped the page and counted again, making sure that all their earnings and salaries to the guild members were counted correctly. He checked the notes that Delvin and Vex had handed to him and recorded the amount of gold gained from their jobs and then subtracted their salaries from it, inking down the names of the members who took the jobs as indicated by the notes. Then he can write down the Guild's final earnings before he moves onto the calculations for the next job. He looked up at the ceiling of the Cistern and found that it was already dark outside. He had been at this since the afternoon. Brynjolf groaned to himself. This amount of paperwork was never an issue to him as it was mainly Mercer's job to keep records. Now, the Guild Master was nowhere to be found, having told them that he had a Guild-related matter to see to somewhere beyond Riften and, to put it bluntly, had dumped his work onto Brynjolf. Well, he isn't a stranger to paperwork and had done his fair share of them but jobs had been picking up recently as more recruits showed up. He was glad, it meant that things were looking up for the Thieves Guild but there was just too much to be done at this very moment.

He glanced at the remaining few sheets of paper that the Taskmasters have left him and steeled himself.

Just a few more left, then he can finally go to bed.

He'd just started work on the next piece when he noticed that Mercer had returned.

"Hello, Mercer," Brynjolf greeted, "How was your trip?"

Mercer looked upon him with his usual grim and stern expression that might instill fear in one of their fresh recruits. Brynjolf had gotten used to it as he had been spending much of his time around this perpetually grumpy man that even a truly heated glare no longer caused him the urge to flinch. However, he did know when Mercer was actually mad and knew to stay out of his way when the time comes. Fortunately, this was not one of them.

"It was fine," he huffed, walking over to the desk and sat in the other chair, "Are you almost finished?"

"Almost."

"Hm," Mercer nodded and focused on the flickering candle with bloodshot eyes.

Brynjolf briefly wondered if he could ask Mercer to fill in the records instead now that he's back but wisely decided against it. Mercer was a man who was quick to anger and it is unadvisable to say or do anything that might provoke the man. Although, with bone-deep weariness beginning to engulf him entirely, Brynjolf was quite tempted.

"This recruit of yours…"

"Yes?" Brynjolf blurted, startled out of his musings.

He blinked at Mercer, who had peeked over at his notes while he was not paying attention. Mercer's frown was deepening and he quickly asked, "Which of our recruits are you talking about, Mercer?"

"The small one, an Imperial, what was his name?"

"Rowan? What about him?" Brynjolf questioned, he felt apprehension crawling across his skin as he grew concerned about what Mercer had to say.

"He did the job in Windhelm, did he not? In that inn."

"He did," Brynjolf stifled a groan upon that mention.

"He got a bounty."

"I was aware." Brynjolf said, "He did escape, however."

"Yes, but that wasn't my concern," Mercer snapped, "What I wanted to know was why did he decide to masquerade as a bard and then sing the Age of Aggression right there in that inn!"

"You heard about that."

"Of course I heard about that!" Mercer glared at him, "He was laughing about it at the Flagon just moments ago."

Brynjolf took a deep breath.

"And then there was the one in Solitude."

_Oh gods, please free me of this pain. _

"Vekel told me that he'd slept with some woman in the alchemy shop before he robbed them! And now he has bounties in that hold as well as posters with his face on them, plastered all over Haarfingar!"

"I haven't heard about that," he admitted.

"Then there was that job in Markarth."

"Oh, gods."

"The guards almost arrested him when they found him screaming 'Glory to the Forsworn' in the middle of the city, all while standing over a corpse." Mercer ranted, "They only let him go when he revealed that he was reading this off a letter from the body."

"Wouldn't they assume that he wrote the letter himself?"

"There were witnesses who spoke for him," Mercer said in a calmer voice, before exploding, "They gave him a fine, which he refused to pay and then proceeded to somehow escape the city. They also put a bounty on him! And do you know how much it all amounts to? Five hundred bloody septims, for gods' sake!"

"I… I suppose we'll have to pay them off," Brynjolf said, bracing himself with a wince.

"You are not getting it, Brynjolf!" Mercer roared, his voice echoing off the walls. "That recruit of yours is eventually going to cost us more money than we can earn from him!"

Brynjolf tried to ignore the stares that they're getting from the thieves who are still awake and looked at Mercer seriously, "We'll make sure he won't do anything like this again. Besides, he has rather exceptional talent in this business and it would be a waste if we were to remove him from the Guild."

Mercer was turning even redder in the face when the anger suddenly seeped from his face. He spoke in a calmer voice that was still tinged with anger as he stood up from his chair, "Yes, we'll have to make sure he won't do anything like this again."

"What do you have in mind?" Brynjolf asked, not liking the sound of it in the slightest.

"You'll watch him."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Whenever this... this Rodent goes out on a job, you'll have to go with him," Mercer said, his mind made up.

Brynjolf stood as well, "Hold on, Mercer, there are others to choose from in the Guild, I don't see why I have to be the one to follow him."

"He is _your_ recruit," Mercer said, as if it totally made sense, "Rodent is therefore your responsibility, make sure he does not deliberately offend people, purposely muck up the job for fun or gods forbid, sleep with someone he should not be sleeping with!"

Brynjolf opened his mouth to protest when Mercer snarled at him, "Are we clear?!"

"Yes, sir," He said instead.

"Good," Mercer said as he glanced down at the ledger, "Now finish your paperwork. I'm turning in for the night."

Brynjolf looked at his retreating figure then down at the records he still have left to fill and emitted a very loud and defeated sigh.

And of course, Rowan had to go out for a job the very next morning.

* * *

"I don't see why you have to follow me to this job," Rowan said from atop his horse, "I'm alright by myself."

Brynjolf tried not to shiver as the cold morning air threatened to seep into his bones and set his weary eyes upon the other man. He has a slight build, barely thicker than Cynric or Niruin and just about the same height as the former jail breaker. His skin is darker and had medium-length hair as dark as ebony. Underneath the uniform of the Thieves Guild, the man had long limbs and carries himself with a catlike grace. His features are much finer, though, a rather odd sight in the murky, damp depths of the Cistern. Coupled with his velvety smooth voice, it worked well to alleviate people's suspicions in him compared to his lot. There was something exotic in his features as well, what with his brilliant blue eyes that held a certain, playful twinkle to them. Rowan almost always had a crooked grin on his face, a devilish sort of look that should have warded him away the first time he'd seen it.

He knew he should have paid more attention back then when he decided to take this man into the Guild. Those features were the telltale signs of a troublemaker.

"That's not for me to decide," he sighed as he readjusted the saddle on his horse. He was quite tired from the late night and the sight of Rowan's cheerful face did irritate him a little. "Besides, you are known for getting into trouble, I'm just here to prevent that."

"Do you, Brynjolf, second-in-command for the Thieves Guild have nothing better to do than follow a little man around? Did you run out of work or something?"

Brynjolf grumbled to himself and climbed onto his horse that let out a protesting whinny at the rough treatment. He gently patted its neck as an apology before he directed it onto the road. Again, he wondered what business he had doing up at this hour, where the sun had barely risen and the air was frigid and damp with dew. Then he faced Rowan with a half-glare and said, "Come on, we haven't got all day."

Rowan shot him a blinding grin, "We do, if we race."

Brynjolf shook his head and spurred his horse into a trot without a word.

"Well, that's no fun," Rowan complained as he followed.

"I'm sorry, were you talking to me?" Brynjolf said without turning to look at him.

Rowan stuck out his tongue behind his back but did keep quiet for most of the way.

* * *

It took hours for them to travel the road to Whiterun. It was a rather pleasant walk, with them basking in the sun, surrounded by trees and graced by the occasional breeze that carried the scent of the river and herbs to them. Even while he was sleep-deprived, Brynjolf enjoyed the journey, even more so when they neared the river and listened to its rushing and gurgling. They had encountered no issues along the way and Brynjolf almost forgot about the potential trouble that can certainly be encountered along the way.

The sky was beginning to darken and turn chilly when the foreboding outline of the Valtheim Towers came into view. And at the base of the nearest tower, a voice rang out.

"You there!" A woman in full hide armor and a red sash around her waist called out to them, "Halt!"

"Great, another one of these," Brynjolf muttered to himself, finally remembering.

He mentally prepared himself for a skirmish and reached for his dagger when Rowan unexpectedly stopped him.

"Hold on, I can talk us out of this," he smiled, eyes twinkling.

Brynjolf weighed his options and moved his hand away from his blade, partly because he was intrigued and also because he was not keen to be caught in another fight. He let Rowan go on ahead and watched the exchange.

"What seems to be the problem, milady?" Rowan asked as he got off from his horse. The air about him was changed and he seemed quite the gentleman as he peered at the bandit in what looked like genuine concern and confusion.

"This is a toll road," she said, her face set in a scowl as she subtly lifted her cloak to reveal her mace, "It's two hundred septims if you want to pass through."

Brynjolf raised his head and spotted a couple of bandits standing on the bridge and one right on top of the tower. They were watching the two intently, their weapons at the ready. The archer at the top had his bow out and an arrow in his fingers, ready to be drawn and fired upon them.

Rowan had noticed them as well and looked upon them with calculated deliberation.

"Oh my," he gasped, worry showing on his face at the sight of the armed men.

"Hand over the gold," she bared her teeth, her hand inching towards her mace.

"All those men up there and they have sent a lovely maiden like you to do all the hard work?"

"What?"

Rowan took a good, long look at her, "You are clearly a beautiful and strong woman and they made you cook? Stand on the frontlines while they idle about up there? Do these men have no idea how they should treat a lady?"

The bandit hesitated, staring at him in bewilderment.

"They have no idea do they?" Rowan shook his head in disappointed, "A strong maiden like you should be looked up to."

He unfastened his dagger from his belt and tossed it to the side where it skittered on the rocks and landed in the river with a splash. Brynjolf was alarmed at such a decision and his horse let out a cautious snort when it sensed his mood.

Rowan had no such qualms as he lowered himself to his knees in front of the bandit, right within striking distance.

"A fair, strong and beautiful maiden like you should be cherished like jewels and gold. Held in high regard"

The bandit began to relax and looked upon him appraisingly.

His voice turned husky as he went on, "You, my fair, strong and beautiful lady, should be showered with the deepest love and affection… I, enraptured by your beauty, ensnared by my lady's charms, I submit to your strength."

She looked awed, "You submit to me?"

"Aye," Rowan breathed, unconsciously nearing her form and his hand drifted up, looking as if he wanted to touch her but was afraid of causing offence. "You have the strength of a true warrior, the elegance of a Divine maiden. Surely I must've been blessed for having you grace my sights. Your skin, so supple and so soft, a dainty petal. Your eyes, so beautifully fierce and bright. And your lips… as rosy and pure as a fiery sunset."

The bandit blushed deeply at his words.

"No one had ever said that to me before," she admitted shyly.

"Then I shall say it," Rowan declared with the air of a poet, "I shall say it twice, thrice, as many times as you need, my radiant, sweet goddess! And I will serve, forevermore."

Brynjolf rolled his eyes while no one is looking.

The bandit looked quite taken by him and gazed shyly into the depths of his cerulean blue eyes, where he gazed intently into hers. Both of them looked lost in whatever world they were caught in, until a gruff voice called out.

"Hey! What's going on down there!"

The bandit snapped out of whatever trance that she was caught in and looked upon Rowan in concern, "You've got to go."

Rowan looked distressed, "But, my lady-"

"Go," she said to him, "I'll handle this."

The bandit suddenly noticed Brynjolf and looked at him suspiciously.

"He's a friend," Rowan said, "You need not worry."

"Alright," she said, turning to Rowan, "Leave, quickly!"

"I'm coming down!" The other bandit shouted.

"I'll be back for you, my love, my goddess," Rowan vowed in a choked voice after he jumped onto his horse, he cast his grief-filled eyes upon her, "I promise."

"I'll be waiting," she said, "Now go!"

He and Brynjolf spurred their horses into a gallop and left the towers behind.

* * *

"Did you see that?" Rowan laughed for the fifth time as he closed the doors behind them, "That looked like it came straight out from a romantic tale!"

"I may have seen too much," Brynjolf grumbled as he unfastened the buckles on his shirt. He pulled off his armor and draped it carefully on the chair already occupied by his gloves.

"Nonsense," he chuckled as he tugged his gloves off and threw them onto the dresser, "There's no such thing as too much."

"Hm."

Brynjolf took off his boots and set them by the bed as he proceeded to lie in it with a great sigh of relief. He pulled the covers over himself and got ready to get some long awaited sleep.

"Brynjolf?"

"Yes?"

"There's only one bed."

Brynjolf opened his eyes to the unwelcome sight of Rowan smiling up in his face. "You don't mean to sleep with me, do you?"

"Absolutely not," he snapped, unwilling to move from his spot. "I almost forgot, there's a bedroll in my saddlebag, go get it."

The other male looked shocked, "That's all the way at the stables!"

"If you want to sleep, go get it," Brynjolf insisted, "I'm not letting you into the same bed as me."

"You could sleep in the bedroll and I can take the bed," Rowan suggested.

"Not a chance," he said, turning away from him.

"Come on, Brynjolf."

"Bugger off," Brynjolf muttered, "I won't change my mind."

"Bryn…" Rowan started to whine.

Brynjolf responded by ducking under the blanket.

"Fine," Rowan said in a voice that sounded suspiciously like he was pouting. The doors were opened and the sounds of the laughter and music filtered in. Then they were closed and all was quiet once again.

He sighed again and prayed to all the Divines that Rowan might not come up with some terrible plan to disrupt his sleep.

* * *

Brynjolf awoke the next morning rested and refreshed. He sat up in the bed and stretched. He looked around the empty room, enjoying the quiet as he slowly put on his boots. The thief got up and was halfway across to the doors when he felt that something was not quite right.

He turned to face the empty room and stood there for a long moment.

"Rowan?" He called. It was rather unsettling as there were no signs of the other man anywhere. The gloves that he'd seen him take off was nowhere to be found, nor was any of his belongings. It was slowly becoming clear that Rowan had not even brought a bedroll in as he suggested.

He had a bad feeling about this, as a dozen awful scenarios ran through his head about what Rowan might have done while he was not in the room. He could've ran into some trouble, or caused some trouble even before he did his job. Or worse, he decided to do the job before the time they have agreed on just because it might be more fun.

If any news got out, Mercer is going to have his head for it.

Brynjolf threw on his shirt and hurriedly made his way to the door when it creaked open, revealing the missing thief.

Rowan startled upon seeing him, he had not expected the other man to be awake and getting ready to look for him, judging from the state of his dress.

"Good morning," he smiled sheepishly.

"Where were you?" Brynjolf demanded. That was when he noticed a certain odor on the other man, "What did you- Never mind, I don't want to know about that. Wait, I want to know about that, who in oblivion did you sleep with?!"

"It wasn't anyone important," Rowan said with a disarming smile as he walked past him into the room.

"That's good," Brynjolf said, relieved. Then he remembered that he should not believe anything that comes out of Rowan's mouth and rushed after him, "No, I didn't mean to say that. I want to know who you slept with?"

That was when he noticed a particular red sash sticking out of his belt and quickly snatched at it.

"Hey!"

"What is this?" He questioned with a frown, holding the sash up to him.

Rowan looked nervous for once, "Ah, well… it was a gift."

"Rowan…" Brynjolf gave a heavy sigh, "Please don't tell me you actually sought out that bandit to sleep with her."

Rowan shot him another nervous smile, "Not just with her."

When he looked like he wasn't going to answer, Brynjolf started to direct a glare at him, "Who. Else?"

"Carlotta?"

Brynjolf promptly slapped him in the face with the sash.

* * *

"Come on, Brynjolf, she wouldn't know it was me," Rowan protested.

Currently, he was securely tied up around his wrists, upper arms, thighs and ankles. He was thrown over the back of his own horse and tied up again to ensure that he would not fall off. All sharp objects were taken from him, excluding the dagger that he'd lost yesterday. Clearly, Brynjolf was not going to take any more chances and allow him to escape and be a nuisance to him or anyone else.

"Even so, you should never, ever sleep with our targets," Brynjolf said unhappily, "Or a bandit. You're now forbidden to sleep around while you're on a job."

"What, you can't do thi- mrrghhh."

"Shut up."

Rowan gave a muffled protest around the sash.

Brynjolf led the horse forward before climbing on his own horse, "Time to head home."

Rowan struggled in his bonds and gave another unhappy protest.

"What was that? I can't hear you!" Brynjolf chuckled to himself and finally felt great about their situation.

He might actually look forward to this "job".

* * *

**Fun fact: Brynjolf was actually still asleep when Rowan was going out on the job, Delvin was the one who woke him. He was there when Mercer was shouting at him XD.**


	2. I knew you were trouble

**A/N: You know, if he wasn't a villain, Mercer is basically an angry, grumpy old man. At least to me anyway, XD. I don't know why, he's not even that old. Oh, also I forgot to mention that Rowan had a scar as well. A claw mark on his left cheek. Oops.**

**No warnings for this one, just Rowan's recruitment day.**

* * *

"I'm telling you, Mercer," Brynjolf insisted as he followed Mercer to his desk, "This man is good, things surely must be looking up for the guild, for all of us."

"You said the last one was good and look what happened to her," Mercer snapped irritably.

"That was a shame," Brynjolf uttered and quite frankly burst out, "But Mercer, I've seen this man work and it was…"

Mercer watched him as he struggled for a suitable word, "It was brilliant! Simply brilliant, I have never seen someone with that kind of skill before. You should've been there; you'll know what I'm talking about. I'd tested him myself and what he did was unexpected, it was as if watching an illusionist at work! Not that I've ever seen one but you know what I mean. We need him in our ranks, it's that simple."

Mercer stared at him, slightly unnerved at his enthusiasm. He had never seen Brynjolf this excited before. In fact, Brynjolf hardly appear excited at anything, much less at the prospect of finding someone new in these tough times.

He tore his eyes away from the smiling Nord and peered down at his letters, "You said you saw him doing all these things, what good is a thief if he could be clearly seen during his work?"

"That was the beauty of it!" Brynjolf gushed, "It was like… like art! A performance! Magic, even. He was manipulating them, playing with his victims, moving them with only his words and he took from them right under everyone's noses and they didn't even realize!"

"A thief works under the shadows, Brynjolf," Mercer said sternly as he began sorting through the letters, quickly reading some of them with a hard gaze, "I hardly see him fitting if he only knows to execute our work with such… grandeur."

"He does blend in well," Brynjolf insisted, "I saw him disappear completely into the shadows as if he were a shade. I suspect he'd chosen to act in plain sight."

Mercer gave him a scrutinizing stare, wondering what manner of otherworldly witchcraft had possessed his right hand man to see merit in such a thing.

"You are certain he will do well?" He asked hesitantly.

"Aye," Brynjolf said, "I am confident he will aid to restore our guild."

"Alright," Mercer nodded, "We'll see this new recruit of yours. Make sure he knows how we do things around here."

"Of course."

* * *

Mercer studied the man standing in front of him with narrowed eyes while Brynjolf introduced him.

He looked rather slight, a little shorter than the average. That's a suitable size for their line of work. He seemed quite agile from how he'd moved, and sure-footed, another good quality for a thief. His eyes were bright and alert, another good thing. And if what Brynjolf said were true, they'd certainly come upon quite the asset.

All in all, Mercer has no problems regarding this new addition to their guild.

The only problem he has is the fact that the recruit is smiling at him.

He is smiling.

_Smiling. _

There was no trace of fear or apprehension on his face. In fact, the man looked downright devious as he stared at Mercer with such a look on his face. Even Thyrnn did not dare to look at him with such blatant disrespect.

That is when Mercer knew he would rather stay away from this man as much as possible.

"Mercer?"

The Guildmaster pretended that he wasn't just glaring fixatedly at the man and announced in his usual waspish voice, "Now that introductions are out of the way, I want to make things perfectly clear. You do what we say, when we say it, no questions, no discussions. Break our rules and you'll get nothing in return, you got that?"

"Of course, sir," the man grinned.

His voice caught Mercer off guard and he now know very well that he should never, ever get himself mixed in with the likes of this man. He glanced over at Brynjolf and realized that he had seen no such thing as he cheerfully spoke with the recruit about their various rules and conduct, as well as some of the services that he can hope to find here.

"If that is all," Mercer cleared his throat when Brynjolf finally stops talking, "Brynjolf will show you around and get you set up for your first job."

He was about to leave and go back to whatever he was doing when Brynjolf said, "Mercer, aren't you forgetting something?"

"Oh, yes. Of course." Mercer slowly turned back around and looked at the new recruit in all seriousness (and reluctance), "Welcome to the Thieves Guild."

* * *

**And then he booked it.**


	3. (Actual title too long)

**Chapter 3: Unlike in the game, we have a Guildmaster bedroom**

**A/N: …Is this still crack? I am not sure, it felt too serious to be a crack but then it feels too ridiculous to be a standard fic (saying this as I looked at the stuff I have planned). Well, as per website guidelines, the rating has rose due to the semi-descriptive sexual contents. Also my first time writing these scenes, I have mulled over this for almost a month dammit D: I don't know, let me know if it's any good?**

**Warnings: One actual sex scene and Brynjolf talks dirty (don't ask me how he knew to do it)**

* * *

When Rowan opened his eyes, he found himself draped bodily on top of Brynjolf. Both of his arms were wrapped around the other's neck and his face in the perfect position to nuzzle him right above his collarbone. They were both completely naked, their bodies exposed to the damp, cool air of the room. Even so, he felt comfortable basking in their shared warmth. The white silken blanket was the only thing covering their nudity. It was draped haphazardly across their hips, with their naked legs extending from under the covers.

Beside him, Brynjolf was still asleep, one of his arm holding him close, his hand resting on top of Rowan's hip.

Aside from the messy state of the bed, the rest of the room around them looked like a disaster zone. Clothes and pieces of armor were strewn all over the stone floor among various books, loose pieces of paper that are clearly important documents. There are stray pieces of gold coins, jewelry and various gemstones scattered all over the floor and the desk. A small silver bowl lay overturned beside it, gleaming in the dull light from a candle burning low as it edges towards the bottom of the stick.

Rowan sighed contently as he shifted closer to the other's warmth, intending to close his eyes and rest some more.

He changed his mind a second later as he pushed himself onto his elbow and peered down at Brynjolf's serene face.

Smiling, he traced a finger lightly along his jawline, feeling the growing stubble prick his skin. His finger then traveled down his throat, over the love bites that he'd left there last night. Brynjolf's face twitched as he muttered nonsense in his sleep. Amused, Rowan continued down between his collarbones and down some more. His exploration brought him to his bare chest. Rowan marveled at how large and well built the man is, despite having seen his naked flesh a number of times. He refrained himself from straight out fondling Brynjolf and continued to trace his way around the firm muscles, beginning to circle around a nipple that had the telling sign of a bruise underneath.

Brynjolf made another noise at his ministrations and opened his eyes.

They flickered over to focus on Rowan. Upon seeing him, he gave a tired sigh almost immediately, "What are you doing?"

"I'm just… admiring," Rowan said in a low voice and punctuated that with a playful squeeze to his chest.

Brynjolf hummed, proceeding to ignore him and closed his eyes.

Rowan narrowed his eyes at the blatant dismissal. Then, he smiled as he ran his hand down the taut muscles on Brynjolf's stomach. They involuntarily twitched at the teasing touch and he smiled to himself as Brynjolf had to suppress a giggle. He snatched Rowan's exploring hand in his own and muttered an annoyed, "Stop that."

"Why should I?" Rowan said cheerfully and reached for him with his other hand.

Brynjolf anticipated the move and wordlessly rolled onto the smaller man in retaliation. Rowan let out a startled squawk, trying and failing to escape as he uselessly flailed at the edge of the bed, trapped underneath Brynjolf's much larger, heavier form.

"Get off!" Rowan cried out as he struggled, "Move, you great, lumbering ox!"

"I am a thief," Brynjolf mumbled unintelligibly as he unceremoniously smacked a large hand onto Rowan's face and left it there, "Go back to sleep."

"Bryn!"

Brynjolf ignored him completely and started to snore.

"I can't breathe…" he wheezed, desperately patting his back in an effort to rouse him.

"Okay," Brynjolf grumbled under his breath.

"Please, I'm going to die…" Rowan tried to push him off again.

Brynjolf finally took pity on him and rolled back the other way, allowing Rowan to take a much-needed gasp of air. He unexpectedly hopped on top of Brynjolf immediately after, sitting on his hips and planted both hands on his chest. Brynjolf opened his eyes at the sudden rush of movement and caught Rowan flashing a playful smirk at him. The blankets had fallen away such that he got a full view of his lean, bare body.

Brynjolf was about to speak when the other man grinded his ass on his crotch with a large, self-satisfied smile.

"You little minx," he growled as he grabbed onto his hips. "Did you not have enough last night?"

Rowan's eyes were alight with laughter as he kept rubbing on him, "Oh, love, it's never enough."

At that, Brynjolf snarled and flipped them over suddenly. Rowan laughed breathlessly as his back hit the mattress, his wrists pinned to the bed as Brynjolf loomed over him with a heated gaze, "Someone is finally awake."

Brynjolf bared his teeth and began to nip at his already bruised neck. Rowan gasped as pleasure spiked through him, he tried to rub his member against the other's again but his hips were trapped by their current position. Rowan let out a disappointed whine and fruitlessly tried to wriggle free, where his lover ignored him and kept peppering kisses onto his neck. Brynjolf moved to capture his lips and Rowan enthusiastically deepened the kiss, moaning into his mouth, his tongue dancing against Brynjolf's as he happily explored the warm caverns of his mouth.

"I should punish you for waking me up," Brynjolf muttered against his lips when they broke the kiss, panting.

"I would like that," he whispered.

He chuckled as he kissed the corner of his lips, "Now tell me, what should I do to you?"

"You tell me, Brynjolf," Rowan gave an inviting smile, "What would you like to do to me?"

Brynjolf smiled at him and moved to murmur in his ear, his voice a low rumble, "I'd like to tie you to this bed and take you apart, slowly…" He punctuated that with a brief squeeze to his wrists.

Rowan gasped as Brynjolf grind down onto him, "I'll taste and mark every inch of your skin as I sink into you, slowly, inch by inch. You won't be able to move even if you wanted to, even if you need to, to chase the pleasure that you crave."

Brynjolf started kissing his neck as he murmured, "The pleasure that is mine to give. And I will watch as you grow ever desperate, straining against your bonds as I make you beg for it, until you become an incoherent mess that knows nothing but slow, torturous pleasure. And then I will finally take you as you wish, that you'll come so hard that you could only remain in this bed, limp, broken and useless until I come to take you again."

Rowan shuddered and whispered by his ear, "Then do it, break me."

"Eager, are we?" He chuckled, turning his attentions upon a particularly dark bruise on Rowan's neck.

He kissed a path down to his collarbone, then down his chest, paying special attention to the sensitive skin around the two scars on his stomach.

Rowan groaned as he felt Brynjolf loosen him up with his fingers. He was still a little sore from last night but he was loose enough that he thinks he could easily take him in entirely once they were past this stage.

It wasn't long before Brynjolf began to breach him slowly. His toes clenched and his fingers dug into his love's shoulders as he began to open up.

Just then, the door slammed open, followed by an urgent, "Brynjolf!"

Brynjolf was startled by the noise and jerked violently, tearing a yelp out of Rowan as he was thrust into all of a sudden.

Frowning, Brynjolf turned to the door to find Delvin staring at them.

"_Delvin_!"

"I apologize, sir," Delvin said, still staring openly at them.

"The doors were locked!"

Delvin smiled sheepishly, looking like he wanted to be elsewhere in that very moment, "It… It was important?"

Brynjolf sighed, "Give me a moment."

He turned back to Rowan as the doors closed and asked in a tender voice, "Are you alright?"

"I-I suppose," Rowan said, experimentally thrusting back against him and elicited a low groan. "It's certainly not the worse."

Brynjolf stopped him from moving and said apologetically, "I have to get to work."

"Oh." Rowan looked disappointed at that, "I suppose that is inevitable, perhaps I should wake you up earlier next time."

He was waiting for Brynjolf to pull out and was surprised when he didn't. Instead, after what seems like a moment of deliberation, Brynjolf lifted one of his legs and placed it on his shoulder while pressing himself further in.

"Brynjolf?" Rowan gasped as he frantically grabbed at the other from the sudden movement.

He let out a moan when Brynjolf abruptly pulled out and thrust back into him. And he did it again, and again and again.

"Ah… ah! Are- Are you not going to see to that matter?" Rowan asked in a strangled voice, one hand clutching onto the bed sheet and the other grabbing desperately onto Brynjolf's shoulder.

"I'm the Guildmaster, love," Brynjolf gave a breathy chuckle at that, "I can do whatever I want."

* * *

(Random) Bonus Scene:

Delvin: You're late, Brynjolf. I see he's rubbed off on you (referring to Rowan's irresponsibility)

Brynjolf: Oh, he'd certainly rubbed off on me alright (referring to something else)

Delvin: Yeah. (Realizes) Wait, no, not like that!


	4. Do you wanna know how I got these scars?

**Note: In the work that I am writing, the different standing stones in Skyrim is treated like horoscopes, people born under certain stones will have its abilities, the strength of the abilities will vary depending at the time of their birth. So some people will have weaker abilities than others and etc.**

**Also, the Thieves Guild members are given more distinct personalities based on their dialogues and my first impressions of them. It may not hold true as they are pretty much drunk in this, so yeah.**

**Enjoy :P**

* * *

The Cistern was bursting with merriment that night as most of the thieves sat down together for a leisurely drink.

They were seated by the pool of water, around plates filled with meats and cheese laid out on the floor. They were also surrounded by a few dozen bottles of various wines and mead they've taken from the Flagon. Talk and laughter echoed off the walls as they celebrated the revival of the Thieves Guild as it drove its long arms deep into the major cities of Skyrim.

The thieves were getting drunk, having guzzled about a dozen bottles of the finest wine that they could find, as they began their talk into more trivial things.

"I believe he's under the Steed Stone," Rowan suggested as he took a small sip from his mug.

Cynric starts laughing heartily, "Right, that story!"

"He pretends to be shamed but then he goes around telling everyone about it," Niruin muttered, watching the liquid slosh around in his tankard as he tilted it about, "Twice."

"Where is he now?" Cynric asked as he took a swig of his drink.

"Busy running off to another job," Thrynn snorted as he tore into a chunk of grilled goat.

The group burst into chuckles over the matter.

Thrynn tossed his drink back and cast his judging eyes upon Rowan.

"And you? Aren't you under the Shadow?" He asked suddenly.

Rowan turned to him with a huge smirk, "Well, yes."

Before Thyrnn could say anything about that, Cynric let out a huge sigh as he got onto his shaky feet.

"Oh, I am envious," Cynric admitted as he pointed his swaying tankard at Rowan, "How are you so fortunate to have been born directly- _directly_, under the Shadow Stone. I'm barely under the Lord and it's mighty useless! And _you_, you blend into the darkness with nary an effort!"

He tossed his drink back and Niruin laughed, "Slow down you lightweight, we've a long night ahead of us!"

"Who're you calling a lightweight?!"

"Leave him be," Thrynn groused, "That idiot always drinks too much."

"What can I say? Better drunk than sober!" Cynric spread his arms sloppily, forgetting he had a drink in his hand and spilled the entire thing.

"Hey, the cheese, mind the cheese!" Rune exclaimed, picking up the plate. "I paid solid gold for this cheese!"

"You're the only one here who cares about the cheese," Thrynn complained, draining an entire bottle of mead.

Rowan laughed as he dropped a chunk of pheasant into his mouth.

"It's the gold, the jewels that are real valuable," Thrynn continued on his rant and raised another bottle, "Even this mead here, much better than some stupid cheese."

"But I paid for these…" Rune said sadly.

"You paid?!" The former bandit spat out his mead.

The group roared with laughter. Cynric fell over from his unsteady movement and knocked over a few bottles of wine. They rolled down the stone floor and into the water, bobbing cheerfully across the surface of the water.

Cynric shakily got back onto his feet, "Oops."

"Get him in the water!" Thrynn shouted angrily.

Cynric raised a finger as he swayed on his feet, "'s alright. I can get in myself."

The man proceeded to fall into the knee-deep waters face-first. It drew another bout of laughter from the group as he turned and pulled himself upright, cursing and spluttering in surprise.

"It's bloody cold in here!" He shivered.

"Of course it is, you blubbering fool!" Thrynn jeered.

The poor man uselessly paddled back to the edge and pulled himself out of water. He dripped water all over Niruin, who cursed and unceremoniously shoved him back into the pool.

His fellow thieves laughed at his plight as he surfaced and screamed, "Bullies! Thugs, scoundrels and ruffians, all of you!"

"Sod off!"

Cynric huffed as he pulled himself out of the pool again and proceeded to drip water all over Rune and his cheese. Rune yelped in protest, then moved to sit far away from him, right next to Rowan who chuckled as he took a sip of wine from his tankard.

Niruin was staring at the latter when he mentioned, "So, you're the only one who's got a scar." He tapped his own left cheek, "What's the story behind that?"

Thrynn scoffed, "Was it from one of your maidens who found out you were a whore?"

"That is beyond rude," Rune said in his defense.

Rowan ignored both of them as he popped a bit of cheese into his mouth. He chewed for a moment before muttering, "It was from a bear."

"What?" Thrynn spat.

"Ho, our golden boy here fought a bear!" Cynric said sarcastically.

Rune looked impressed, "Really?"

"No?" Cynric looked confused, "I think not."

Niruin stroked his chin as he studied the scar, "It looks like it was from a cat."

"A sabre?"

"A house cat."

"An angry Khajiit!" Cynric laughed.

Rowan laughed as he took another sip of wine, "No, you fools, it was from a bear."

"Go on then, Rodent," Thrynn said in a challenging tone, "Tell us your story."

He popped open another bottle of wine, pouring it into his tankard as he started, "It was during one of the days when I was a wandering bard. I was on my way to Markarth. It was approaching dusk, I was in the mountains surrounded by juniper trees when I came upon a bear in the dark."

"So what did you do?"

"The only thing that is sensible," Rowan said, "I ran away from it."

Cynric burst out laughing and Thrynn turned to glare at him.

"What? It was funny."

The former bandit rolled his eyes.

"Now," Rowan said as he began his story, lowering his tone as if narrating a great tale. "I was at a severe disadvantage. The way is dark and full of dangers when suddenly, the bear attacks me!"

"The great beast slowly rises on its hind legs. Its form towers over me, throwing its black shadow over the trees. Its enormous form blocks the waning moon above. Its eyes are as red as blood, they bore into my very soul and pierce into my skull. There was a cold chill in the air as it huffs, its breath misting the air around us in damp, foggy clouds. A loud, guttural growl reverberated as if from the heart of the mountain, my heart pounds along with it."

Rowan smirked in satisfaction as the thieves stared at him, captivated.

"I watch as the beast opens its great, big maw," he clasped his hands together, one on top of the other with crooked fingers on one hand in between of those on the other. He parted them to imitate an opening jaw. "Its dark lips curls back to reveal rows upon rows of yellowed, dagger-like fangs, glinting from the pale moonlight."

He paused, making a show of holding his breath with a look of dread on his face.

"SNAP!" He exclaimed as he suddenly snapped his hands back together. His audience jumped and he held back the urge to laugh, even more so when Thrynn began glaring at him.

Rowan switched back to his low, serious tone as he continued, "I stare straight at it, my heart thundering in my chest, my blood roaring in my ears. I should not make any sudden movements to agitate it any further. Once again, it opens its massive maw and let out a roar that sounds as if the jaws of Oblivion are opening right beneath my feet. My mind is blank, there is no other thing I could think of, except to get away from the dark beast as soon as possible."

"I turn and run, as quickly as my weakening legs can carry me. I feel as if I am running in a bog, my legs are numb from the fear rushing through my veins. Behind me, I can hear its unholy roar, reverberating, tearing through my flesh. My heart feels as if it is going to beat out of my chest, beating in time with the thunderous footsteps as it came charging at me. Plants and twigs cut through my trousers and into my skin but I can feel none of it. Its hot, wet breath ghost over the back of my neck as it snarls and growls and grunts right behind me. Twigs snapping and rocks crumbling under its feet. I duck under a fallen tree, the cold air stabbing my lungs. And, a heart-stopping CRASH! Pieces of chipped wood fall to the ground just by me. Its enraged roar send a rush of air into my back and I could not help but turn, and see that the truck had snapped in two and the bear is glaring at me with red, blooded eyes."

The Cistern was silent except for his voice as they stared at him.

"I dart towards the rocky hill as the beast bring its paws down unto me, the ground that I was just standing had been crushed under its feet. I let myself fall down the face of the rocks. And it follows me, unrelenting, as it tumbles down the hill with me. The air was knocked out of me when I hit the bottom, my sides ache but I could not stop for comfort as the snarling and growling is still right by me. I tossed my pack and my broken lute aside, hoping to distract it. But the bear was determined, it was going to have me, one way or another. I realize this just as a force knocked me to the ground, the beast having successfully struck me in the back. I gasp and struggle and twist onto my back, the bear roaring, its fangs glittering and hot spittle landing on my face. I knew that I was a dead man as it raises its claws and brings it down in a flash. Hot, stinging pain erupted on my face, there was a wetness and I knew that I bled. It rises for another strike, a killing blow, my hands scrambled for anything, anything useful that could help me buy some time. My hand grasps onto what seems to be a stone. I fling the stone at it with all my might, with all the strength that I could muster. The stone strikes the bear in the eye and it snarls in pain. I turn and try to crawl back onto my feet. But my strength was gone and I collapse back onto the ground, certain that I'd met my doom."

Rowan trailed off, letting it sink in.

"That was when a voice, a shrill voice calls out from the dark. 'Hey, ugly!' She yelled. At that time I hoped she wasn't referring to me as I was sure, my face had been marred and covered in blood beyond recognition."

There was a low chuckle among the thieves as Rowan smiled.

"The beast was distracted and an arrow flew from the trees and embedded itself in its other eye. It roared, and more arrows fly, right into its gaping mouth. And it was felled, the great form of the bear crashed to the ground. It was all silent and still."

"And from the trees emerged a maiden, the great huntress who defeated the great beast that chased me so. 'Are you alright?' She asked."

"All I could do was stare at her, for she was far fairer and more beautiful than any huntress I have laid my eyes upon."

"There it is," Thrynn snorted.

Rowan ignored him, "'Aye,' I replied. 'I have never been better.' To that, she laughed, 'How can that be, when you are bleeding so terribly?' So I looked at her and said, with the utmost sincerity, 'It was your fairness that healed my ills. With such a striking beauty in sight, how can I feel any pain?' So taken was she by my words that she blushed a most pretty shade of red. 'Come with me,' she said graciously, 'And let me tend to your wounds. My camp is this way.' I accepted her request, and went with her."

Rowan paused and took a sip of his mead.

"What happened next?" Rune asked, curious.

Rowan looked like he was about to say something, then stopped. "Oh, look at the time, it's quite late," he said smilingly, "I think I've had enough, time for bed."

"What? Wait," Cynric protested when he stood up, "You haven't told us the rest?"

"The rest?"

"You know, the night with your fair huntress?"

"Ah, yes, it's quite-" Rowan looked down the Cistern, "Hey look, the boss is calling me."

"Huh?" Rune craned his neck in the direction that he's looking, "I don't see-"

"Gotta go!"

Rowan ran off before the rest can say anything else.

"He's a devil," Niruin commented as he downed another tankard of wine.

"I wanted to hear more about the huntress…" Cynric grumbled as he flopped onto the stone floor.

Thrynn stared at where he saw Rowan last, "I still do not believe he got that scar from a bear."

"Why is that?"

"Well, he'd be dead if he took a blow from a bear."

"How do you know that?" Rune asked.

Cynric perked up immediately, "Is it because you bandit types like to 'get friendly with the wildlife'?"

Thrynn threw a bottle at him and almost nailed him in the face. Apparently Cynric was no longer drunk enough to be an easy target.

"I agree with Thrynn," Niruin said calmly, "A bear would've killed him with a strike from its claws."

"So what do you propose?" Cynric asked.

"We get him to admit the truth, one way or another."

* * *

Brynjolf walked towards the archery range, hoping to sharpen his blade when he spotted Thrynn cornering Rowan once again. He felt a sense of resignation, he thought that Rowan had learnt his lessons last time about daring to mess with that one. Thrynn aimed a punch at his face, which Rowan easily avoided. The former bandit was gearing up for another assault when Brynjolf rushed in.

"Stop!" He barked.

Thrynn and Rowan both turned to him and Brynjolf was surprised when the former bandit regarded him with mortification rather than anger.

"What's going on?" He asked, puzzled.

"We're having a… urm," Thrynn stammered, "A little combat practice! That's it."

Brynjolf raised a brow at him, "Rowan?"

He shrugged, "Whatever he said."

Brynjolf stared at the both of them suspiciously.

"Alright then," he said finally and went on his way.

However, as he left, he heard Thrynn whisper, "Twenty septims and you tell me what really happened that day."

Brynjolf turned to look at them curiously and walked right into the grindstone.

* * *

The Guild leader rubbed at his bruised shin while he sat at the edge of the pool, wondering about the scene he'd seen a few while ago.

It was then that he saw Rowan walk across the bridge with Cynric in tow.

"Oh come on," Cynric grumbled, "Tell me what it was again, was it a cat? A Khajiit?"

"It was a bear."

"No, you didn't mention a bear," Cynric said, "It must be a Khajiit, I remembered you said a Khajiit."

Rowan scoffed, "You must've been drunk, it was not a Khajiit."

"_You_ were drunk!" Cynric protested, "You mentioned a Khajiit, a female Khajiit in fact, with light fur and shapely body and you were invited to her camp."

"What?" Rowan stopped and stared at him for a long moment.

"You said a Khajiit."

"Ah, yes, I see what you're trying to do." Rowan chuckled, "It was an interesting strategy but it'll never work because I never get drunk."

He patted Cynric in the shoulder and swiftly left.

Brynjolf watched as Cynric sighed in disappointment, before he ran after Rowan, "You still did not tell me more about that huntress of yours!"

And once again, he was left wondering when the both of them were gone.

* * *

At the training room, he heard Niruin muttering, "I'll make a bet with him and get him to beat me in unlocking the chests, deliberately lose and then buy a drink for him, perhaps a couple, and get him drunk enough to start talking."

"Well, he just said that he never gets drunk."

There was a long silence as the words sank in.

"Damn."

* * *

"But I heard Thrynn said that it can't be a bear," Rune said.

Brynjolf sat at the table with Delvin and just happened to hear another snippet of conversation. He was hoping to take his mind off the strange happenings with a meal at the Flagon but of course, he had to hear something.

"It was a bear, believe it or not."

"Really?"

"Really."

Rune fiddled with his bottle for a moment before he insisted, "Well, Niruin said it wasn't either, I don't know what to believe."

"Just trust me."

"Okay."

The man watched the liquid slosh around in his bottle and suddenly said, "But I heard otherwise, they said it wasn't possible, even Cynric mentioned it when I asked him."

Rowan actually sighed, "It was… It was a bear."

* * *

"The Guild seems to be astir," Mercer announced angrily in the office, "What I want to know is why that is the case, why do I see all of them, _all of them_ behaving strangely today?"

"Almost all of them," Delvin corrected, "Vipir is still out there on his job."

Mercer proceeded to glare viciously at him.

"Alright," he held up his hands, "I'll be quiet."

"BRYNJOLF!" Mercer yelled suddenly, making the man jump, "Surely you must know what the oblivion is going on. This whole… disarray revolves around that Rodent of yours, care to explain?"

"I have no idea, sir."

"You have no idea?!"

"Uh…"

"Oh, give him a break," Vex rolled her eyes before Mercer could shout again.

"_What?"_

And as Mercer gave her a long, hard stare, Delvin spoke up, "They're all trying to get Rowan to tell them where his scars came from."

The Guild leaders all stared at him.

"What?"

"He'd already told them but none of them believed him."

"The fools," Vex looked annoyed, "You cannot be serious."

"I'm serious, it's all very entertaining." Delvin laughed, "Can you believe it, all that ruckus over a scar? I love it!"

"Well, I don't," Mercer growled.

"Why is that?"

"Because none of them are doing their damn jobs!" He roared.

* * *

Rowan snuck out of the Guild before anyone could catch him, having had enough of the others pestering him for an answer.

As he rounded a corner, a young child bumped into him.

"I'm sorry!" She blurted, then took a long look at him, "What's that on your face, mister?"

Rowan chuckled as he got down into a crouch, "It's a scar, do you want to feel it?"

She nodded and traced the mark with a look of wonder on her face.

"Wow…" She marveled at it, "What is it from?"

"I got it from a bear," Rowan answered with a smile.

"Wow, really?"

Rowan laughed, "No, not really."

"Then what did you get it from?" The child asked.

"A tree branch, while I'm running away from the bear."

The child giggled, "You're funny, mister."

"Aye, I'm glad you think so," Rowan said. "And do you know how I got away from the bear?"

"How? How?"

Rowan smiled, "A huntress killed the bear and saved me."

"Wow… was she pretty?"

"Aye, she was very pretty. She was the prettiest huntress I have ever seen."

"Wow… is she here? Can I see her?"

"Nay, she's not here, I haven't seen her in years."

"Aw…" the child pouted, "I hope I can see her sometime."

Rowan smiled, "Aye, I hope so too."


	5. (Actual title also too long)

**Chapter 5: Insanity: Doing the same thing over and over again and getting really strange results**

* * *

Rowan shivered, having stepped out from the frigid air of winter back into the damp, barely-warm air of the Cistern.

He closed the sewer grate behind him and shook snow off of himself, shaking out his fur cloak before wrapping it snugly around himself again.

He hated the cold, particularly the chill that Skyrim is famous for.

Rowan ventured towards the kitchen, hoping to find something to warm him up. His mouth watered at the thought of stew, preferably thick, succulent and rich venison stew. Or maybe even vegetable soup, he didn't really care, not even if Brynjolf had volunteered to cook today, he just wants to be warmed.

As he crossed the arch across the pool of water, light snow drifting down from the cracks in the well above, he caught sight of Vipir and Sapphire through the doorway into the guild storage.

In his hand was a bunch of flowers, red, purple and blue mountain flowers and what looked to be tundra cotton that's beginning to wilt.

Poor Vipir looked hopeful, proclaiming words of love it looks like while Sapphire barely spared a glance at the flowers, scowling steadily at him with her arms folded.

Rowan was almost out of the Cistern when he heard her yell.

"You can take those flowers and shove them up your-"

He closed the door behind him, her voice turning into a muffled echo he could not make out. He sighed in relief at the warmth coming from the roaring fireplace, enveloping him and slowly seeping into his bones.

The cooking spit looked to be recently used, the embers glowing dully as the firewood disintegrated into ashes.

Rowan grinned widely when he caught sight of a large pot sitting in the middle of the table.

There was steam still rising from it and he took a deep breath, taking in the delicious scent of beef stew.

He wasted no time rushing to the pot, ladling a huge bowl of warm, delicious, succulent beef stew with carrots, tomatoes, garlic, leeks and snowberries.

Rowan wolfed it down, almost eating the bowl too as he moaned at the taste, even happier now as he mentally praised Rune to high heavens for graciously putting himself on cooking duty today for the man truly makes the best stew among them all, with the exception of Thrynn.

The Imperial was about to get himself seconds, already thinking about eating his third bowl of stew and grabbing some bread when he saw Vipir staggering dejectedly into the kitchen, a blue petal stuck on his forehead and a leaf lodged in his left nostril.

Rowan let slip a snort of laughter, he couldn't help it, it was quite the ridiculous sight.

He felt a pang of guilt when Vipir looked up, his expression reminiscent of a kicked puppy.

The Nord thief trudged over and slumped heavily onto the bench, the wood creaking under his weight.

Rowan cleared his throat, "I take that it didn't go well?"

He watched Vipir staring blankly at the wall and jumped when he practically slammed his forehead into the table, sighing heavily.

"She's not interested in me," Vipir mumbled, miserably rubbing his head into the table. "Why should she? Sapphire's smart and strong and beautiful. I'm just plain old Vipir, a dumb, washed-up joke of a thief."

Rowan mild concern over him spouting such scornful words for himself.

"I'm sure it's not that bad," he said as he patted Vipir on the shoulder.

Vipir heaved a long, pitiful sigh, "She hates me."

Rowan awkwardly removed his hand, staring uncomfortably at his empty bowl.

He turned to Vipir after a long moment of silence, the other man having stayed in the same, face-planting position throughout.

"You know," he started, a smirk playing across his lips, "I can help you with this."

Vipir turned to face him then and Rowan tried not to laugh at the flower petal crushed all over his forehead.

* * *

Brynjolf walked into the study to find Rowan and Vipir standing by the desk, startled looks on their faces.

"What are you two doing?" He demanded, eying them suspiciously.

Vipir opened and closed his mouth.

As expected, it was Rowan who spoke up.

"We weren't stealing paper," he said, completely calm.

Brynjolf narrowed his eyes at him as he folded his arms, "Why were you stealing paper?"

"Because we needed them," Rowan said as he continued rummaging through the desk, much to Vipir's horror.

Brynjolf turned to the other man, who stiffened and shot him a nervous smile.

"What exactly do you need the paper for?" Brynjolf questioned Vipir in a warning tone as a few sticks of charcoal went flying.

"I'm teaching our Vipir here some poetry," Rowan answered cheerfully, having found a stray amethyst inside a drawer.

Brynjolf stormed over and plucked the gem from his hand before he could pocket it and snagged the ring of keys from Rowan's other hand, the Imperial having grabbed it while Brynjolf was taking the ruby.

"Hands off, you vermin!" The Guild Second snapped.

He proceeded to yank open a drawer on the other side of the desk, grabbed two rolls of paper and thrust them at Rowan, who grabbed them reflexively.

"Here, now get out," Brynjolf growled, shoving him a little. "Don't let me catch you in here again."

"Thanks, Bryn!" Rowan said and scurried out with his prize but not before snagging a pot of ink before he could protest.

"I'm so sorry, sir." Vipir blurted, running out after Rowan before Brynjolf could yell at him.

Brynjolf sighed, turning to regard the mess in the study now that he's left alone.

He probably should get some new locks for the door and shuddered at the thought of having to tell Mercer about it.

* * *

"Are you sure this will work?" Vipir muttered tentatively.

"It will," Rowan smiled, "Poetry always works, now go get her."

Vipir took the paper and read the words again, committing them to heart. He took a deep breath and shot Rowan a weak smile before exiting the sleeping quarters.

Rowan sighed, lying back in his bed.

* * *

Vipir returned shortly.

Rowan peered at him from his bed, arms behind his head.

"So? How did it go?"

He proceeded to spit out a wad of paper, muttering, "She made me eat my words."

Rowan stared at Vipir as he spat and groaned at the taste of ink.

"We might have to look for other means."

* * *

"Here," Rowan said as he passed a box to Vipir.

The man was sitting by the water's edge in the Cistern, moping. He opened the box curiously and found a gleaming silver necklace laying within, studded with a large ruby with two small topaz on the sides.

"This, uh..."

"I stole it," Rowan declared proudly, "The box as well."

"Oh..." Vipir closed the box and tried to hand it back, "Thank you but I'm not interested in jewellery."

"What? No!" Rowan shoved the box into his chest, "This is your gift for Sapphire, ya blockhead!"

"Ah, okay," Vipir blurted, hope and gratitude lighting up his features.

Rowan sat down by him and shot him a suggestive grin, "Although, I'm not adverse to the idea if you accept the necklace as a token from me to you."

Vipir gave him a scandalized look.

"No, thank you," he grumbled, standing up. "Do you know where she is?"

"She's in Vex's room."

"Uh..."

"Don't worry, Vex is off to meet with lovely Anuriel."

Vipir paused, "Lovely?"

Rowan's grin widened, "Yes, very lovely indeed..."

"I- I don't want to know," Vipir said, shuddering at the purr as he all but fled from the Cistern.

He reached Vex's room a moment later, holding the box in his hand.

Vipir nervously cleared his throat and steeled himself before knocking on the door.

There was silence.

Vipir knocked again, wondering if Rowan was having him on.

"Sapphire?" He called, "It's me, Vipir. Are you in?"

Vipir startled when the door swung open abruptly. Sapphire stood glaring in the doorway, dressed in a simple white tunic and breeches.

"What do you want?" She demanded, folding her arms.

Vipir shook himself mentally and held the box out to her.

"Here, I got this for you."

Sapphire eyed the box and the jewellery within, "Did you steal it?"

"Y-yeah," Vipir stammered, "Is there a problem?"

Sapphire looked at him and took the box.

Before Vipir could react, she had turned away and slammed the door in his face.

"Wait!" He called, knocking on the door, "Sapphire!"

"Keep it down!"

Vipir paled, turning to spot Mercer glaring at him from his room.

"I-I'm sorry, sir!" He yelped.

"As you should be," Mercer snarled at him, his eyes bloodshot, "Get out of here!"

Vipir scurried from the Guild Leader's bedrooms without looking back.

* * *

Rowan was getting himself some chicken stew and apple pie in the kitchen when Vipir stumbled in, looking a little worse for wear.

"I assume that it didn't go well?" Rowan asked as he sliced off a piece of pie.

Vipir slumped into a chair, "She used me as target practice."

"Daggers are out of the question, then," Rowan said as he proceeded to pick up the apple pie, leaving only the small wedge he cut up on the platter.

"Are you eating all that?" Vipir stared at the almost-whole piece of pie on his plate and the heaping bowl of chicken stew next to it.

"Hm, I might want some baked potatoes with these," Rowan mused. "But Thrynn didn't cook any."

Vipir decided not to think on it and sighed, "I'm never getting Sapphire to like me."

"How are you so bad at this?" Rowan muttered while he began to shovel food into his mouth, quickly chewing before he swallowed and moaning at the taste. "All that usually works, oh, this is _so good!_ You want some?"

"I don't have an appetite," Vipir sighed pitifully.

Rowan moaned again as he bit into a juicy hunk of chicken.

Vipir sighed, distracting him from his food.

"Perhaps I should show you," Rowan said, tongue darting out to taste the bit of stew on the spoon. "How a master of seduction does his work."

Vipir didn't look any more hopeful as he sighed again.

* * *

Rowan's yelp echoed along the walls of the Cistern as he was bodily thrown into the water.

"Don't even think about it," Sapphire snorted and walked off as if nothing happened.

Rowan surfaced, spluttering and shivering at the chill.

He clambered out of the pool, coming face to face with Vipir who gave him a sad look.

"Guess she's a tough nut to crack," Rowan shrugged, teeth chattering.

"Thanks for trying, friend," Vipir patted him on the shoulder, as if he's the one who needed comforting.

"Hey..." Rowan trailed off as the dejected man walked off without another word.

* * *

Rowan was back in the kitchen a few days later, grinning at Brynjolf as he tried to cook up some stew.

"Can you stop hovering over me?" Brynjolf said, irritably tossing garlic and elves ear into the broth, "You're distracting me."

"Oh, don't mind me," Rowan said cheerfully, "I'm just doing an experiment."

"On what?"

"On whether your food will taste better me here."

Brynjolf eyed him skeptically, "That doesn't make any sense."

Rowan smirked, his arms lay folded on the table, "Well, it's not like your stew can get any worse."

Brynjolf stopped stirring the pot and shot him an offended look, "Excuse me? What are you trying to imply?"

Rowan shrugged, "Oh, nothing."

Brynjolf glared at him and decided to chop up the leeks when Vipir burst into the kitchen.

"Rowan, my friend!" He exclaimed, crossing the room towards in quick steps, "I have news!"

Rowan paused upon seeing the giant, flaming handmark on his left cheek, "Hello, Vipir, what is it?"

"She slapped me!"

"Oh, I'm sor-"

"It was wonderful!" Vipir declared.

"Um, what?"

Brynjolf stared at him as he grasped Rowan's shoulders and shook him, "I must thank you, for you've shown me the way, she finally accepts my courting!"

"By slapping you?"

"Yes," Vipir said, metaphorical stars shining in his eyes, "And she yelled at me, it was glorious! Simply marvellous! Like my life's been awashed with Meridia's pure light!"

"Are you feeling alright?" Rowan questioned almost fearfully.

"Never better!" Vipir beamed, "I must meet with her, I'll see you later, dear friend."

He left just as abruptly as he entered.

Rowan turned to see Brynjolf giving him a disapproving look.

"What on earth did you do this time?" He said as he returned to the pot, adding some water into the bubbling stew.

"I have no idea," Rowan shuddered, "I need to get a job, maybe one in Solitude."

"You're still banned from Solitude, we haven't covered your bounty yet."

"In Windhelm, then."

"Ulfric still remembers your face from when you tried to steal his family heirloom," Brynjolf stated as he pondered the stew and added some salt.

"Dammit, what about Whiterun?"

"That should be fine," Brynjolf said, scooping out some stew and handing it out to Rowan, "Here, taste this."

Rowan looked at it cautiously, "I thank you for the offer but-"

"Taste it," Brynjolf said firmly. "Perhaps your bounty in Solitude will be cleared faster if you do."

Rowan eyed him unhappily, "Perhaps?"

"Definitely," Brynjolf amended, "Your bounty will definitely be cleared by noon tomorrow."

Rowan carefully took the ladle and sipped.

"How is it?"

His face twisted into a grimace as he spat it out, "Oh, ugh! What did you do?!"

"I cooked," Brynjolf protested, tasting the broth himself.

"Needs more salt," he muttered, tossing in some and stirring the stew.

"Rowan-"

He was out of there before Brynjolf could ask him to taste that putrid concoction again. Rowan swiftly decided that he shall be having dinner down at the Flagon instead.


	6. What say you in your defense?

Brynjolf was resting in the townsquare, watching the Talos priest screaming in mild amusement when a handful of guards came up to him.

He looked up from where he was seated, as the lead guard unsheathed his sword and pointed it at him.

"You have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people, what say you in your defense?"

Brynjolf stared blankly at him.

"What?"

* * *

He was thrown into the dungeons shortly, his gear all stripped from him, the guards leaving him in a dirty tunic and trousers after a quick search.

Brynjolf sighed, sat on the hay with his arms crossed waited.

Rowan showed up an hour later, emerging from the shadows as a patrolling guard walks past.

He hurried to the cell door with a sheepish grin on his face.

"Took you long enough," Brynjolf grumbled, still sitting on the hay.

"Hey, it wasn't my fault."

At Brynjolf's disapproving look, he withered, "Okay, I might have done something and they arrested you by crime of association."

The Guild Leader sighed, "I don't suppose it had something to do with Elundir?"

"It was Elindir," Rowan said as he started picking the lock on the jail door, "And, well, yeah."

"Alright."

Rowan paused in his work, "You're not mad?"

Brynjolf shrugged.

The door let out a creak as it was unlocked, Rowan swung it open, wincing at the loud squeak it produced.

It was a miracle that the patrolling guard heard nothing.

Brynjolf got up and brushed off his pants, "Are you aware of where they've kept my things?"

Rowan nodded, "It's just down the hall through through that door."

"Good."

As Brynjolf walked past him out of the cell, he turned to Rowan with and calmly stated, "By the way, you're on stocking and cleaning duty for a month."

Rowan gaped at him, "But you said you're not mad!"

"I wasn't," Brynjolf said as he continued on his way, "But you have to be punished. Also, my bounty is coming out of your cut."

"Bummer," Rowan grumbled, much to Brynjolf's private amusement.


	7. The incredibly troublesome Guild Second

Brynjolf stepped into the Guildmaster's office one summer afternoon, lamenting the stiff, muggy air of the ratways that always carried a faint, fetid stink that came with the heat.

He unbuckled his dagger from his belt and placed it on the desk, going around to check on the documents.

Brynjolf flipped opened the ledger book, eyes scanning over the balances and numbers over the last months.

As he came to the entry from the previous week, he paused.

He stared at it once and another time, standing immediately when he was certain he wasn't seeing things.

Brynjolf opened the door, peering into the Cistern where Cynric is practically buzzing around Garthar, the usually calm man looking like he's moments from ripping the other's head off.

He looked around and seeing no one else, closed the door before approaching them.

Garthar straightened up when he saw Brynjolf while Cynric went quiet, looking at him curiously.

"Have you seen Rowan?" He asked.

"No, Guildmaster," Garthar answered at the same time Cynric grinned.

"What is it?" Brynjolf turned to the other man.

"He's at the Flagon," Cynric said cheerfully, "Trying to rip poor Etienne off in dice."

Brynjolf felt a tic in his right eye but refrained from saying anything.

"That will be all," he said abruptly and turned for the Flagon, ignoring Cynric's growing gleeful look while Garthar tries to slip away before he notices.

He entered the Ragged Flagon to see Rowan and their newest recruit at a table, Tonilia and Delvin hovering over them watching the game. Vex was ignoring all of them as she sipped from a bottle of ale.

On Rowan's side of the table was a large pile of septims that easily reached a hundred while Etienne only had a handful left, the man looking absolutely dejected.

Rowan was rolling the die in a cup as Brynjolf approached them silently.

"Ten," he said, tossing them out onto the table, the two die spinning about and eventually settled on two fives.

"Dammit," Eitenne cursed, as Rowan laughed and slid the man's last coins over to him.

"Today's not your lucky day, it seems," Rowan smirked and just noticed that the others have gone quiet and are staring at something behind him.

"Hello, Bryn," he said, turning to the man who stood behind him with his arms folded.

"I don't think cheating a man of his gold makes for a good first impression," Brynjolf deadpanned.

Etienne stared looked between them, "Wait, what?"

"I wasn't cheating," Rowan said shamelessly.

Delvin laughed at that.

Brynjolf rolled his eyes, "Return him his money and come along to the study, I need to speak with you."

Rowan sighed dramatically, "Can't a man have some fun around here?"

He did leave the mount of coins for Etienne to collect and followed Brynjolf obediently back into the Cistern and into the office.

"What need do you have of me?" Rowan asked with raised brows as he placed his around Brynjolf's waist.

Brynjolf shrugged his arm off while he pointed at the ledger, at the words written in the column, "What the hell is this?"

Rowan peered down at the scrawled letter 'F' next to the letters 'H: S. N.' written next to the numbers '250' over '150'. At the bottom was the letters 'V. Fleet'.

"Here," Rowan said, pointing at the first letter, "This here refers to the fishing job, this refers to a sapphire necklace, which is an heirloom. We were paid two hundred and fifty septims, minus one hundred and fifty which is the Guild's share. This job was carried out by Vipir."

Brynjolf gave him an unhappy look, "I thought I told you to record all these properly."

"I don't see a problem-"

"_Properly_, Rowan," he grumbled, "And you could've written down Vipir's actual name instead of that stupid title of his."

Rowan waved at the records, "This is quite easy to understand."

"No, it is not," Brynjolf snapped, jabbing at another row that read _'B - J. D. - 350/200 - C'_.

"What in the blazes does this even mean!"

"It's a burglary job, for a jeweled dagger," Rowan answered easily, "Cynric was the one to do it."

"And this?"

"A bedlam job in Whiterun," Rowan said, "Vipir was the one out on that job."

"There's not even a proper system in place!" Brynjolf yelled, "You used the letter B for two different things! And you just wrote a V for his name, there's no damn consistency with this, you clod!"

Rowan shrugged.

Brynjolf glowered at him, "I want you to do it again."

"Bryn-"

"No excuses!" He snapped, "And do it properly this time or I swear to the gods I will _tan your hide!_"

Rowan smirked at that, "Oh, really?"

Brynjolf looked absolutely livid, "Don't come to bed tonight."

"What? No, Brynjolf-"

"No, Rowan. In fact, if you don't do this," Brynjolf said in a low, threatening tone, "Don't even think about sleeping in our room for a week, I will jam the doors if I have to!"

The Guild Second gaped at him.

"And find those damned papers!" Brynjolf snapped as he left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Rowan stared at the door in shock.

As he made his way over to the desk a moment later, the door slammed open.

"On seconds thoughts," Brynjolf said through gritted teeth, glaring at him, "I'd better be present to make sure you don't make a mess of it another time."

Rowan didn't respond and sat at the chair in silence while he looked for the Taskmasters' results.

Needless to say, Brynjolf never let him touch the ledgers again after that.


	8. Another bandit incident

Mercer scowled as he flipped through the ledger, glancing at the neat rows of numbers that showed a clear spike in the Guild's finances. Brynjolf was seated in front of him, going through the new client requests that came through and painstakingly sorting them into piles where he mentally labeled "jobs available for everyone", "high-tier jobs recommended for some" and "jobs that should be rejected". Mercer will check through them later before he could pass them off to Vex and Delvin, of course.

The Guildmaster was just about done with the ledger when he noticed something amiss amongst the records.

"Brynjolf?"

"Yes?"

Mercer cast a glare upon him, "Would you care to explain to me why there is a loss in our funds?"

Brynjolf stopped his work and looked at Mercer, who proceeded to slide the book across the desk and pointed to a very distinct row where the job is indicated. Under it, he had very clearly written the name 'Rowan'.

"That's… ah," Brynjolf hesitated upon seeing it. He'd known that Mercer would've come across it sooner or later and he had no choice but to record it down as per the conduct. Then he'd forgotten all about it until this moment.

"Well?" There was clear hostile edge within the Guildmaster's voice now.

"It's the usual," Brynjolf explained, "We had to avoid giving him any important jobs because of his… actions. Unfortunately, that job he'd taken was unable to cover the expenses that took covering his tracks."

Mercer snarled, "So what are we supposed to do about this problem?"

Before Brynjolf could answer, Vex and Delvin entered the room, where the feisty Guild Third dragged the poor, whimpering man over by his ear, looking angrier than usual.

"This old sod have mucked it up big time!" She yelled, pulling him forward.

"Ow, there's no need to be so rough," Delvin whined, rubbing his ear as he was released.

"What in the oblivion is going on?" Mercer demanded.

"Ask this fool, won't you!" Vex snapped as she cuffed him in the back of his head, "Tell him how you lost our contracts, you arse for brains!"

"He _what_?" Mercer looked livid as he faced Delvin, "What on earth _did you do_!"

Delvin looked shaken upon seeing his expression. He gave a weak, sheepish smile and uttered, "I, um, Rowan took them."

"Rowan?"

"He's the troublemaker you're always raving about," Vex informed before pulling Delvin by the ear again, "Tell him, you smelly clod, what _exactly_ did we lose?"

"It's the- the very important jobs, sir!" He yelped as Vex tugged harder, "Two important robberies in Markarth, three shill jobs in Solitude, Whiterun and Markarth, two numbers job in Windhelm, five fishing jobs in Solitude, Windhelm and Markarth and two planting jobs in Whiterun!"

"_WHAT?!"_

"And they are requested by?"

"The Graymanes, sir!" Vex twisted his ear, "_Ow_! And Erikur, and Captain Lonely-Gale! And Maven Black-Briar!"

Mercer looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel as he screamed, "DELVIN!"

Brynjolf looked positively horrified at the news, "Where is he now?"

"That is the problem," Vex grumbled, "We have no idea where he is. The scoundrel's not been seen in days."

Just then, the door burst open again. Cynric and Rune came scrambling in with wild, panicked looks on their faces.

"Sirs, we've a problem-" Rune started.

"Rowan's been captured!" Cynric exclaimed.

"What?"

"Where is he?!"

"Bandits, sir!" Cynric said quickly, "We were returning from a job when we saw Rowan get dragged into the towers, there were too many of them to attempt a rescue."

"And the goods?" Mercer demanded, beginning to look worried, "Everything that Rowan had stolen?"

Rune looked confused.

"We haven't seen them, sir," Cynric answered, "We suspect the bandits got their hands on them."

Brynjolf pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, "I suppose we'll have to go help him."

"There's no need," Mercer spat, "Just find the goods."

"Where was he captured?"

"At Fort Greenwall, sir," Cynric answered.

"Very well," Brynjolf said, "You two come along, let's make our way there and look for the haul, shall we?"

* * *

As the three crouched in the shadows by the fort, Rune whispered, "We're rescuing him, aren't we?"

"Of course we are," Brynjolf whispered back with a sigh, "He may be a pain in the arse but he's still part of the guild."

"Those are some very noble words you are saying, sir," Cynric said.

Brynjolf turned to him, "What are you implying?"

"Nothing, sir."

Brynjolf stared at him for a moment, then decided to ignore him altogether, "Well, let's hurry up, then."

They knocked out the bandits patrolling the premises and snuck their way deeper and deeper into the fort.

"I've found some of the goods," Cynric said, picking up a jeweled dagger from the pile of valuables stashed in the corner of a room.

"We can come back for those later," Brynjolf said before turning to Rune, "Is the area clear?"

"Yes sir," he said, "Everywhere but this room over here."

They made their way towards it and suddenly, what sounded like pained gasps and grunts filtered in through the gaps in the doorway.

Brynjolf motioned for them to keep behind him and he carefully tried the door. It was unlocked. He pushed it open a crack and caught the sight of naked flesh within.

His first thought was that Rowan was held against his will and quickly snuck into the room. He clung to the shadows, dagger in hand as he prepared to subdue the aggressor when a very distinct cry of pleasure echoed throughout the room.

"_Ah_! Yes!" Rowan panted, bouncing up and down on a man's lap, "Oh! Harder, harder, just like that-"

Brynjolf stared at them, frozen.

"Yeah, you like that, don't you?" The man grunted, fingers clawing into Rowan's hips, "You little slut, faster!"

Rowan complied and gasped even louder, "Oh yes, yes, I'm going to-"

"Oh my Akatosh," Rune blurted, his eyes wide as saucers.

The bandit startled at the voice, "Huh? Who's there?"

At that, Rowan slammed a club into his head, knocking him out immediately. The onlookers took a step back in surprise at the unexpected sight as none of them had noticed when Rowan had gotten his hands on a weapon, busy as he were.

And instead of stopping, Rowan continued impaling himself on the unconscious man's member until he finished with a loud cry.

He pulled himself off the man and flopped down onto the bed, panting hard. He raised his head and regarded the three identical appalled looks and muttered, "Hello, I didn't expect company."

"By the gods," Cynric burst out, "What in oblivion was that all about?!"

"Too much cargo," Rowan replied with a huff.

"You were _captured_ by the bandits!"

"Aye, I was," Rowan said, still catching his breath. "They wanted to kill me, too. Then I made them a deal." He smiled, "Sex for my freedom, they can keep the goods. Of course I was planning to come back in and take everything back but, here you are."

Cynric stared at him, "So, that's it? You slept with the chief-"

Rowan laughed as he sat up and regarded Cynric with a boastful smile.

"I slept with _all of them_."

Cynric and Rune both gaped at him.

Brynjolf, who hadn't said anything up until this point, sheathed his blade, straightened and snapped an abrupt, "That's it, I'm leaving."

He swiftly made his way towards the door as Rune turned to him in surprise, "Sir-"

"No, I am leaving."

"But-"

Brynjolf turned to glare at him and snarled, _"I. Am. Leaving."_ He cast his eyes over at Rowan, who still sat naked, grinning over at him.

"And clean up this mess," he growled and left without another word.

Rune stared after him pathetically as Cynric made his way over and patted him on the back.

"So much for 'he's still part of the Guild'," Cynric said with a grin.


	9. Within Irkngthand

Rowan just managed to parry Mercer's dagger strike and jumped back as the former Guildmaster swung his sword, cutting through the air where he was standing.

He stumbled against the uneven surface beneath his feet, ducking when Mercer attempted to cleave him in two.

On the ledge at the corner of his eye, Karliah was locked in combat with Brynjolf. He heard shouting from the both of them but could barely hear it as he scrambled back from another blow, almost losing his footing on the stairs.

"Give up!" Mercer laughed as Rowan was forced to retreat as he kept attacking, "You're no match for me!"

The dagger felt slippery in his grasp, his heart pounding and his brain focused on nothing but dodging and parrying blow after blow, ignoring the cuts Mercer had inflicted on him, blood seeping into his clothes.

He really shouldn't have opened his big mouth, he should have pushed Brynjolf in front of him, or even Karliah, they both at least stand a chance at defeating this madman, not him. Not when he hasn't an ounce of combat training in him, choosing to run away or negotiate whenever trouble jumps at him.

Rowan wasn't sure when he had struck out, just as surprised as Mercer when he managed to strike him in the chest with a shallow cut.

He gaped at Mercer, wide-eyed, he almost couldn't feel the dagger in his hand.

Mercer stared at him with bloodlust in his eyes and really, he should've taken the chance to stab the bastard or something but he was too shocked to move.

"So, the rat knows how to bite back after all," he chuckled, the laughter sending an ominous chill down his spine.

He really should've hung back with his mouth shut.

Mercer roared and suddenly, he was attacking more viciously than earlier.

Rowan fought for his life, frantic energy thrumming through him as he parried and dodged strike after strike, his arm shaking from the force of Mercer's weapons clashing against his own.

He'd only survived so far because of the natural abilities bestowed upon his Shadow sign but his luck eventually ran out.

Rowan gasped at a particular hard clash of Mercer's sword against his dagger, his fingers felt as if they've been broken from the force as his knife went flying.

He didn't see where it landed as Mercer stabbed him in the stomach the very next second.

He let out a strangled cry of pain, the world reduced to the fiery agony in his gut where Mercer's sword was embedded.

Rowan barely registered the other's crazed look as he crumpled to the uneven stairs below him, gasping as the blade slid from his stomach, its edges brightly stained with blood.

He thought he heard his name but he couldn't be sure, staring dazedly up at Mercer, gasping, pained noises spilling from his lips as he clutched at the burning wound.

The Breton held the tip of the sword against his throat, drawing blood as it cut shallowly into his skin.

"The Shadows shall consume you, for all eternity" he snarled, holding his blade up while Rowan lay prone on the stairs, watching his death approach.

Neither of them saw the ugly Falmer spear that flew through the air.

Mercer let out a choked noise, his eyes wide with shock as the spear pierced his neck, the point of it embedded in his windpipe.

The sword fell from his hand as Rowan lay staring at him uncomprehendingly.

Mercer grasped at his throat, choking as dark blood trickled from his lips.

He turned to stare at the ledge, seeing Karliah lying on her back and Brynjolf falling to his knees, panting as he glared balefully at the man he used to work for.

Mercer stumbled and fell from the stairs to the bottom, eyes open and dead.

Brynjolf groaned as the spell finally loses hold on him. He climbed to his feet as the ground shook, rumbling noises echoing around the cavern. Karliah gasped, holding her injured shoulder as she struggled to her feet.

Another quake shook the cavern, pipes bursting open and water spilling into the cave.

Karliah glanced at Mercer's body below them.

"Brynjolf-"

"Rowan!" Brynjolf yelled, ignoring her as he leapt off the ledge, wading through the waist-deep water as he rushed for his lover.

Karliah watched as he ran up to him, ignoring all else as he looked the man over.

She jumped off the ledge and hurried over to Mercer's body, digging through his pouches until she came upon the Skeleton Key.

The water came up to her chest then, lifting her off the floor as it continued to rise at an alarming rate.

"Brynjolf!" She shouted, treading over to him where he was trying to stem the bleeding from Rowan's wound. "We have to get out of here!"

Brynjolf turned to her, grief-striken as Rowan gasped and grasped at him weakly, face turning grey.

"I won't leave him!" He snapped, looking angry and panicked.

Behind them, the doors are completely flooded.

"We'll all die if we don't leave!" Karliah yelled, turning back to see the doors submerged in water, her face paling.

The water lapped at Rowan's form as it continues to rise, his hold on Brynjolf weakening as his eyes slid close.

"No, Rowan!"

Tremors tore through the cavern, dislodging more rocks and dwarven pipes.

* * *

They managed to make it to Nightgate Inn just before they froze to death in the icy landscape of The Pale.

The innkeeper was perturbed at the sight of them. He was silenced when Karliah dropped a large bag of gold on the counter, allowing them to take a room for a few nights.

Rowan laid still in the bed, covered with a thick fur blanket. He was still unconscious and looked deathly pale. His stomach was bandaged, his ugly new wound sitting right by the other which haven't completely healed when Mercer tried to kill him the first time.

Brynjolf sat in the chair by his bed with his hands clasped in front of him, staring at his prone form.

Karliah was seated by the table by the other side of the room, occasionally glancing at them and fingering the Skeleton Key in her pouch.

"Brynjolf," she said softly, her voice deafening in the silence of the room.

Brynjolf turned to her, his face blank. Only his eyes gave away what he was feeling, worry brimming in their depths.

"Our work for Lady Nocturnal is yet to be done," she said, "We need to return the Key to her shrine."

He looked at her and waited.

"By failing to protect her temple, I have fallen out of favour with Nocturnal, I can't face her until our quest succeeds."

"You want me to return the Key," Brynjolf concluded.

Karliah nodded.

Brynjolf turned away from her, peering into Rowan's pale face, still looking as if he's on the verge of death.

"What if he doesn't make it?" He muttered in a dull voice.

Karliah was silent.

"Will she save him?" He asked, "If he starts to slip away?"

"The Night Mistress is like a stern mother to her followers," she answered, "Perhaps she will."

Brynjolf dipped his head in the smallest of nods.

He reached out a hand, brushing Rowan's damp hair out of his face. The Imperial stayed asleep, the shallow rise and fall of his chest the only signs of life.

The Guild Second seemed to have come to a decision.

He stood and walked towards the Dunmer.

"Take care of him for me," he said.

Karliah nodded and handed him the Key.

Brynjolf took it and slipped it into one of his pouches. He quickly packed what he needed, buying some food and water from the innkeeper and grabbing his fur cloak.

Karliah approached him with her bow in hand.

"Take this," she said, holding it out with both hands, "I've had this bow for my entire life and it has never let me down. I hope it brings you the same luck."

Brynjolf took it from her, staring down at it, "I'm not much of a bowman but thank you."

She handed him her quiver that's still half-filled with arrows.

Brynjolf slung it over his back, along with the bow.

He glanced at Rowan, his heart heavy at the prospect of leaving him behind.

"We'll await your return," Karliah said.

Brynjolf nodded to her, looked at Rowan one last time before leaving the inn.


	10. (Actual title too long again)

**Chapter 10: When Rowan has nothing to do but pile up the last straws**

* * *

"Thrynn, Thrynn!" An annoying voice rang out as somebody shook his shoulder frantically.

"Huh?" The Nord mumbled, his voice rough with sleep, "Whazit?"

"Wake up, please!"

He managed to force his eyes open, sleepy gaze landing on his least favourite person in the Guild.

"_You_," he snapped groggily, "What in the oblivion do you want?"

Rowan stared at him wide eyed, his tone urgent as he said, "Something's happened, Mercer's called for a meeting at the Cistern."

Thrynn peered at Rowan with narrowed eyes, "What's happened?"

"I'm not too sure myself," Rowan said, looking more worried than he'd seen, "Something about an infiltration, I've heard. It must be serious if Mercer's decided to summon all of us."

Thrynn looked about the sleeping quarters, finding all the other beds empty.

Rowan stood up, heading towards the door.

"Hurry," he urged, "We don't have much time."

Thrynn sat up, alert. He'd been in the middle of an ambush before and he knew that his survival depends on his ability to deal with the attack, no matter how sick or tired he was.

He quickly slipped his feet into his boots.

_Squlech squelch_

He paused, his toes involuntarily wriggling at the strange soft, sticky feeling.

Thrynn slowly pulled a foot out, finding it covered in a dark substance.

It was mud.

He whipped his head over at Rowan, who looked like he was having trouble stifling his laughter.

"ROWAN!" He bellowed.

The other thief fled the room before Thrynn could throw his mud-filled boots at him.

The last he heard of the scoundrel was a bark of laughter as he scurried out of the room.

* * *

Thrynn almost forgot about the incident a week later while he found himself buried in more work than ever before.

Things were finally looking up, so much that the leaders began to complain about the increasing number of clients they're getting, especially Delvin.

He returned to the Guild all exhausted from his last job, his ass aching from horse riding all day.

He yawned, grabbing a chunk of bread from the kitchens before heading for bed.

As he walked towards the sleeping quarters, he quite literally bumped into Rowan, who appears to be hurrying off.

He was quite startled, as he hadn't seen the bastard ever since the day he had to scrape mud out of his boots, to no avail.

"Hey-"

"Sorry," Rowan blurted, barely glancing at him as he rushed in the direction of the tunnels, "Got to go!"

Thrynn blinked as he disappeared from sight.

He would chase after him to settle the score from a week ago but he decided that he's too tired to deal with anything but food and sleep for the moment.

Besides, he wasn't feeling as furious as he'd been so perhaps he won't go after Rowan... much.

Thrynn yawned, opening the door to the sleeping quarters.

There was a strange smell in there.

Thrynn frowned, realizing that it kind of smells like a pond in the room.

He scanned the room.

Cynric was sprawled out on his stomach on his bed, his arm hanging over the edge above a fallen bottle of ale where it lies in a puddle of spilled ale.

He was asleep, his mouth opened as he snored like a pig.

Niruin was sleeping in the other corner of the room, neatly tucked into his blanket and mumbling something about pretty blue eyes.

Thrynn couldn't see anything out of the ordinary and walked towards his bed where the blanket was draped over the mattress.

He paused.

He remembered folding the blanket a few days ago.

He thought he saw a wet patch on the blanket as well and flung it off to find...

_Fish_.

Fish, all over his_ bed_.

_Small pond fishes all over his god forsaken bed. _

"ROWAN!" He roared, storming out of the room, no longer sleepy.

Of course, he was nowhere to be found, the bastard.

Thrynn swore he'll rip him a new one when he sees him next.

* * *

"Do you mind getting some flour for me?" Brynjolf asked absentmindedly as he stirred the pot.

Thrynn stood in the doorway, a stricken look on his face, "You're cooking?"

"Hm," the Guild Second nodded, tossing chopped leeks into the pot, "Venison soup and pheasant pie."

"Uh, alright," Thrynn muttered, wiping the expression off his face just before Brynjolf looked up, "I'll be in a minute."

He's definitely not staying for dinner, he thought.

Thrynn couldn't understand why a Guild Leader such as Brynjolf would even volunteer for a lowly job such as cooking duty. Throughout the years in the guild, he'd never seen any other leaders dirty their hands with charcoal even once.

Well, except for that one time Delvin tried to impress Vex by cooking her some herb-crusted venison chops.

That thing that appeared on her plate looked like it belonged in the fire pit.

It also knocked the poor man out when Vex lobbed it at his head.

While Brynjolf's food was equally bad, they'd actually looked edible until someone puts them in their mouth.

Thrynn tried not to shudder when he remembered that one time he almost died from tomato soup. He still wasn't convinced that Brynjolf didn't somehow put poison into it.

He opened the door to the pantry and headed straight for the cabinet where they stored the flour.

Thrynn wasn't expecting the sack to fall on him when he opened the door, flour raining onto his head.

He stepped back, more sacks falling and sending white flour exploding all over him, covering the floor in white.

He coughed, having accidentally inhaled some in shock.

His first thought was that someone had forgotten to seal the sacks.

His second thought reminded him that none of the flour bags in the pantry were ever opened. If someone needed flour, they'll open it in the kitchen and the stupid bags will remain in the kitchen until all the flour is gone.

His third thought told him that someone had set him up.

Then his fourth was a realization that Brynjolf never cooks bread or pie, only stews and soups.

"Did you set me up?" Thrynn demanded as soon as he returned.

Brynjolf gaped at the sight of him.

"What in the world _happened_ to you?" He squawked.

Thrynn stared at him and realized that maybe Brynjolf had nothing to do with this.

"Someone deliberately unsealed the flour sacks," he explained, "They were leaning on the cabinet door so they'll fall on whoever opens it."

He then gave Brynjolf an accusing look, "You never baked!"

Brynjolf looked at him blankly.

A look of realization crossed his face briefly, before he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"Rowan," he grumbled.

Thrynn's eyes widened into a hard glare, "Ah, so it was him... I'm going to fucking catch him and shove a knife down his throat."

Brynjolf was about to say something when Cynric burst in with a snort.

"Ha!" He exclaimed, "You look like an idiot who got caught in the middle of a snow storm!"

He ran as Thrynn chased after him with loud, angry bellows.

* * *

He hadn't seen Rowan in weeks.

The rogue had somehow managed to avoid Thrynn the whole time he was plotting revenge on him. They're all in the forms of physical abuse, of course, for the man was not going to stoop as low as petty pranks.

Though, they sound like a pretty good idea at this point.

However, he had no good idea of how to get back at him. He didn't even known when he'll show up, for gods' sake!

So Thrynn spent his days at the base brimming with frustration.

He heard that Rowan had come by, judging by the dark look on Mercer's face and a couple of whispered mutters because of Mercer's rage.

But it was mostly because of Mercer's face.

It was annoying that Thrynn didn't manage to catch him.

He did check his boots before he put his feet into them, checked his bed and chests and avoided the pantry at all costs.

There was nothing out of the ordinary.

So Thrynn decided to spar with someone to vent his anger.

He managed to pick up Vipir as his opponent, the man seemed too cheerful to realize what's going to happen, specifically Thrynn wiping the floor with him from the fury pulsing under his skin.

They faced each other in the training room.

"Weapons?" Vipir offered cluelessly.

Thrynn smiled wickedly at him, "Why not?"

"Alright," he said cheerfully, his hand poised over his dagger. "We'll stop when someone holds their knife to the other's throat, yeah?"

He was planning to hit Vipir with the hilt of his dagger repeatedly just to prolong his fun.

"Yeah," he smiled.

"On the count of three, then."

Vipir got into his stance and counted to three.

Thrynn ripped his dagger out furiously as he aimed his fist to Vipir's nose, hilt first.

He found himself off-balance when he saw that his hand was empty.

Vipir accidentally elbowed his head because of his awkward position.

Thrynn's vision blanked for a second.

When it cleared, he realized Vipir was hovering over him, apologizing profusely.

He blinked at the man in confusion, looking at his dagger that's still stuck fast inside the sheath.

He ignored Vipir and tugged at it, the blade refusing to budge.

Thrynn went to Niruin after, where the man took a look at his dagger and unexpectedly, sniffed at it.

"It smells like tree sap," he informed, grunting as he tried to pull the dagger free. "Someone poured it into the sheath, they probably did something else to it because it shouldn't be so... stuck. Maybe you should try-"

The dagger slid free suddenly, flying away from them and hitting the back of Cynric's satchel before clattering to the floor.

The man in question looked at them with large eyes, "Holy- watch what you're doing. You could've killed me!"

"Maybe you should get a new blade," Niruin said, "I know a way to remove the sap but the ingredients needed is much too rare and expensive."

"Just tell me what I need," Thrynn said through gritted teeth, ignoring Cynric's shouting.

"I think... chaurus eggs, ice wraith teeth and fire salts."

Thrynn sighed and pulled at his hair.

* * *

As he walked in the direction of the Flagon with his ruined blade, he thought he saw a glimpse of Rowan.

"Hey, you!" He yelled.

The figure turned to him in surprise and he saw that it was indeed Rowan.

Expectedly, he ran.

Thrynn cursed, yelling at him as he chased after.

Rowan turned towards the tunnels, running at a ludicrously quick speed.

After Thrynn's anger had worn off, he'll realize that he'd seen for himself just how fast the little rascal could be, having only heard of his stupidly fast speeds he could reach from others' stories.

Thrynn put on as much power as he could into his legs, only seeing Rowan as he flung open a door and disappear into the tunnels, the door swinging close.

He reached the door a moment later, not allowing himself to catch his breath as he opened the door.

And was promptly smacked in the face with a broom.

Thrynn fell over, not realizing what had happened until he saw the thing above him, swaying slowly and seemingly attached to something.

He smelled and felt something on his face, wiping at it with his fingers to find them coming away with something black and sticky.

Tar.

Thrynn saw red.

* * *

Brynjolf was just minding his own business, sipping some ale and dipping his bare feet in the Cistern's cold waters when Rowan and Thrynn burst out from the tunnels on the other side.

Rowan was running for his life, right until Thrynn threw something at him that caused him to fall over.

He was alarmed as he thought it was a weapon of some sort but it turned out to be a rock.

Then Thrynn was upon him, dark streaks on his face and poised to kill.

Brynjolf rushed towards them, his bottle fell into the pool, forgotten.

* * *

**A/N: Well, that was a doozy. Anyway, it took longer than usual to finish because I worked on the one after this at the same time. **

**It's very long, basically a mini story of its own. **

**Also, it'll have a more serious tone compared to everything else, on par with the 'Mercer stabs Rowan' stuff but worse.**


	11. (Why is there a word limit)

**A/N: I was going to work on the long chapter but it was taking forever and I'm having a little trouble with it. Like, I'm not even halfway through. So have this one instead, it's supposed to be out after another two chapters but whatever. It's part of the main story btw.**

* * *

**Chapter 11: He didn't have a drinking game with this one**

Rowan was naked, sprawled out on the largest, most luxurious bed he'd ever seen.

It was soft, the sheets laced with gold and silver, the white frame adorned with gems. It was in the middle of a room so large he couldn't see the other ends. And it was dark, the bed lit by glowing lamps hanging from the wooden posts.

He was alone in the room aside from the man who climbed onto the mattress and over him

Rowan laughed and pulled his latest partner down onto himself, losing himself in soft kisses and gentle caresses.

"You're quite lovely tonight, my dear," his lover murmured in his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

Rowan pulled back, giving him a mock pout, "Aren't I lovely every night, my love?"

The man chuckled, diving down to nibble and suck at his neck.

"Of course you are," he crooned in between kisses, "You're just particularly lovely... tonight."

Rowan smiled dreamily, feeling pleasantly sleepy as he sought out the other's lips and delved into them.

That was when he noticed a mist in the room.

"What's that?" He asked distractedly, frowning as he tried to make sense of why it felt so misplaced.

The man with dark hair turned to look at it and for a split second his face shifted, turning dark.

"Oh, it's nothing," he said cheerfully as he turned back to face Rowan, "It's just smoke, from the incense."

Rowan narrowed his eyes at him, his hands still on his shoulders.

"Is something wrong, sweet thing?"

The suspicious look melted off Rowan's face as he smiled dazedly, "Nothing, my love."

The man smiled back, peppering his neck with more kisses.

The smoke drifted towards them and Rowan shivered as a chill struck his bones.

"Have I told you what an alluring little thing you are?" The man said, his smooth voice reverberating strangely in the room.

"Hm?" Rowan's face contorted into a frown, finding something stiff in his partner's dark hair.

"What an alluring, _interesting_ little mortal," his voice echoed through the room, as if there were three of him speaking at the same time.

"What..." Rowan gasped, finally looking and seeing horns on his head.

"Mortal," the creature in place of his handsome lover backed up and smiled at him with a dark grin.

Rowan stared at him in horror as clarity returned to his features, "What- What on earth are you!"

The demon stroked Rowan's cheek with the back of his hand and the fear instantly dissipated, leaving him a dull, confused shell of a man.

"What's wrong, love?" He asked with a wide grin.

"I..." Rowan muttered, closing his eyes, "Nothing..."

"I see that you're nervous, love." He gave a look of concern as he offered, "Would you like a drink to settle your nerves?"

A lazy smile spread over Rowan's face as he opened his eyes, "Yes, of course."

A bottle of wine materialized out of nowhere.

Rowan felt like he should be alarmed by that. But there was probably no point in it, his partner didn't seem to notice anything wrong, maybe it's just magic; he seemed good with that.

Rowan drank the wine that was offered, his lover holding the bottle as he sipped from it.

"You're such a treasure, little mortal," he said as he withdrew the bottle of wine.

Rowan smiled at him, closing his eyes, "You really think so?"

"I know so, my love," the demon said, "My... Romaeus."

Rowan opened his eyes and found himself in the middle of a glade, lying on his front with his face half-buried in a patch of damp grass.

Lying across from him were a few empty bottles of wine.

He squinted his eyes shut, groaning as he felt how dry his throat was and he mouth tasted awful, like something had crawled into it and died, before moving down to his stomach and wreaking havoc in its depths.

Rowan clambered onto his arms and retched, throwing up a load of liquid that stink and soured his throat.

He groaned and collapsed onto his back, away from the disgusting puddle and wishing that he could get some water.

He got up after a few minutes of lying there trying to will the pounding away.

Rowan frowned as he couldn't remember how he'd gotten here.

He eyed the bottles and couldn't remember when he'd drank them.

He also felt like he'd a terrible dream.

But he couldn't remember it.

Rowan did find a little note in one of his pouches.

_We shall meet again, Rowan_

_\- Sam_


	12. What makes a monster

**A/N: Phew, I have finally completed this chapter, it's long as hell, or at least longer than your usual chapter. So I guess, sit back and relax and enjoy the story? Anyways, warnings: it is very tragic. I thought this idea up a long time ago and finally my randomizer gave it to me. All I did throughout was complain about how long it is XD. Also, everything that happened up until the story starts is indeed part of the main story. The town of Blackthorn is included and this is a modded town that you can find on the Nexus, etc.**

* * *

Rowan stumbled into a stone wall, pale and weak from blood loss. His left hand painted a bloody trail over the wall, his other hand clutching onto the wound on his neck that hurts like someone had taken a pike to it. He could hardly believe that they were only mere pinpricks when he ran his fingers over them earlier, hissing at the flare of agony that caused him to fall back onto the ground, writhing in pain until it ebbed down into manageable levels.

He found his way to the river bordering Blackthorn, the sky brightening as dawn approaches.

Rowan fell to his knees, sinking into the soft mud. He regarded his sickly reflection. His hair was in disarray, his skin taken on a deathlike pallor. His eyes were wild and half of his neck was covered in blood that's beginning to dry.

He had no idea it bled so much, he looked like he'd been mauled by a wolf.

Rowan squeezed his eyes shut, shaking the fuzziness from his head.

He splashed water onto his face, washing the blood from his skin. Rust swirled into the river and attracted several fishes, nibbling at clumps of dried blood.

He hissed as his wound sent out a dull throb as he gently scrubbed at it, wincing as red blood trickled out of the hole in the middle of the raised skin and down his throat.

Rowan wiped at it and stretched out his neck, peering at the watery view of his wound. The two pinpricks were almost black to the look, the skin around them seemed inflamed.

He carefully cleaned them until no more blood lingered on his neck.

He couldn't do much about the dark stain on the shoulder of his doublet, he might have to find a way to discard it.

Rowan sighed and washed his hands in the river, ignoring the fishes that darted curiously around his fingers.

He finally stood up, feeling less pained and nauseous since earlier and headed back to town.

* * *

"Greetings, my lord," a guard bowed as he walked passed.

Rowan nodded, regarding him with a wan smile and carefully pulled his borrowed cloak tighter around his neck.

He walked by a few more citizens who greeted him, the man responding with strained politeness.

Rowan finally made it to his manor on shaky legs.

He scrambled to the door, almost tripping on the step and slamming his face into the pillar.

Rowan hurriedly opened it and entered the building.

He sighed as he shut the door with a click.

When he turned around, he caught sight of his steward walking up to him, peering at him curiously.

"My lord," Belle started, reaching for his cloak.

Rowan stepped out of her reach immediately, his back hitting the doors and sending a faint rattle through them.

"Sir?"

"Leave it," Rowan said, trying to keep his voice from trembling, "It is a little... chilly."

Belle studied him, "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes, I am quite alright." Rowan said, "I've had a long night and would like to rest, so excuse me."

He brushed past her and made his way up the stairs, disappearing into the bedroom without another word.

* * *

Rowan found himself feeling incredibly exhausted over the next few days. He stayed in his bed for most of them, hardly able to get out without feeling sick and dizzy. He must've looked awful. He was shaking, cold sweat shining on his forehead and his skin pale, even his hands looked white to him.

Belle brought his meals up to him but he couldn't muster an appetite past the first few bites. He pushed his food away when nausea seized him next, the morsels he consumed threatening to spew out next.

She sought out a healer then, the physician examined him and left them with some medicine, telling her to find him if Rowan's illness didn't improve.

It tasted awful, the bitter taste of boiled herbs stinging his tongue and turning his stomach.

He expected to throw up after drinking it but somehow didn't.

Rowan spent the days sleeping like the dead and nights were spent dozing restlessly and shaking as if his bones were freezing.

When he awoke next, it was the evening of the third day since he returned from his disastrous journey.

Rowan sat up in bed, feeling much better than he had the past couple of days.

There was a gnawing hunger in his stomach.

Rowan turned to the bedside drawer and found a bowl of soup. It looked like potato soup but he couldn't be sure as he wrinkled his nose at the smell of it.

His throat felt unbearably sore too and he quickly poured himself some water, gulping it down, hoping that it'll help to sooth his parched throat.

He soon drained half the pitcher but didn't feel any better.

Rowan eyed the unappealing soup next, taking the bowl in hand and stirring distrustfully at the contents within.

He was so hungry.

He braved a mouthful and choked, spitting it out immediately, almost dropping the bowl.

It tasted worse than the medicine that he was forced to drink.

Rowan grimaced as he set the soup down and drank more water to wash away the taste.

He could hardly ignore the insistent pangs in his stomach.

Rowan left the bed, stretching out his stiff limbs for a moment before making his way down to the first floor.

Belle was nowhere to be found.

He made his way into the kitchen, looking for food, anything to sooth the hunger in his belly. He rummaged through the pantry, looking through the potatoes, carrots and tomatoes.

Rowan picked up an apple and bit into it.

He spat it out, grimacing at the strangely awful taste.

It must've gone bad somehow.

He tossed it aside, the apple rolling across the floor and under the dinner table.

He kept looking through the food, finding nothing but ingredients and apples seemingly from a bad batch.

Desperate, Rowan searched through the other cupboards, finding ash-like bread and putrid cheese.

He settled on something soft and slippery then, he didn't recognize what it was, too blinded by hunger.

Rowan bit into it, groaning at the heavenly taste that filled his mouth. It was sweet and it was savory, delightfully tickling at his senses like spices and herbs. He tore at it like a man possessed.

Soon, it was gone.

Rowan reached out for another and saw the slight redness staining his hands.

He pulled them back, puzzled.

When he looked into the pantry, he realized it was where they occasionally store raw meat.

He gasped, stumbling back and stirring up the pieces of red-stained paper that he'd just shredded.

Rowan felt ill.

He scrambled to his feet and dived over to a bucket, expecting to throw up.

Nothing came up.

Rowan laid heaving and shaking over the bucket, half-sobbing to himself, unconsciously smearing stale blood onto his face at it.

He blanched when he'd realized what he'd done, staring at his stained hands.

He hurriedly gathered up all the mess that he could and scrubbed his hands in the wash basin. He washed the bit of blood off his face.

Rowan returned to his room, feeling ill and dazed as he crawled back into bed.

* * *

He wasn't sure when he'd fallen asleep.

Rowan frowned as he felt someone carding their hand through his hair. He groaned at the surge of nausea that rose with his awareness.

He blearily opened his eyes, blinking away blurry vision.

"Brynjolf?" He uttered in a scratchy voice and cleared his throat.

Brynjolf peered at him worriedly as he rested a warm hand on his forehead.

"I was told that you've been ill," he said, Rowan sighed as he resumed stroking his hair. "I came home as soon as I could."

Rowan blinked at him, noticing daylight filtering through the window, the glass glowing dim and blue.

"What time is it?" He asked as he struggled to sit up.

"Whoa," Brynjolf said at the abrupt movement and helped him up, "Easy, love. You don't look too good."

Rowan frowned, he felt fine, mostly, much better than he'd been the last few days. Aside from the slight dizziness and the hunger.

Memories of last night rushed back to him.

His stomach twisted and before he could get a word out, he was spewing his guts out on the sheets.

"Rowan!" Brynjolf yelped, rushing up and holding him by the shoulders, his actions spurred on by shock more anything.

He paled when he realized that what Rowan had vomited up was a puddle of blood, with bits of pink and red flesh.

"Rowan!" He's visibly panicking now, his eyes wide with fright. "Fuck, BELLE!"

Rowan stared numbly down at the mess.

Brynjolf was frantically calling for the steward now, about to pull from Rowan's side when he grabbed at him.

He looked down into Rowan's alarmed face. "No, don't-"

"You threw up blood!" Brynjolf practically shrieked, _"Blood!"_

Rowan was wide-eyed as he rasped, blood trickling down his chin, "It's not mine."

"What?" Brynjolf stared at him incredulously, unable to understand what he's saying, "What do you- what do you mean it's not yours?"

His lover looked pale and frightened, "I- I... I might've... something's wrong-"

He trailed off.

Brynjolf gaped at him, "What are you talking about? _What's going on, Rowan?"_

Rowan was deathly still for a moment, before he burst out, _"I don't know!" _

He was shaking as tears brimmed in his eyes.

"I was off with Gisela and Hudri to investigate the new mining sites," Rowan recounted in a tremulous voice, "It all went well, there was plenty of iron and gold and- and, and..."

He took a shuddering breath, tears spilling from his eyes.

"There was a woman," he buried his face in his hands, smearing blood as he rubbed at it. Words tumbled out of him, "I don't remember her face, I don't... I don't know what happened. I just turned and saw her standing there and suddenly there was _pain_. I was burning all over and I felt knives in my neck and..."

He choked on an inhale, "She was pressed against me and her body was cold as ice. She was..."

Rowan ran a hand over the marks on his neck, his face blank with fear and shock.

"She bit me," he said, realizing. "She drank my blood."

He looked up, meeting Brynjolf's shocked gaze.

"Gods," his voice broke, face crumpling with an ugly sob, "She _bit _me."

"What?" Brynjolf furrowed his brows in concern and confusion, his voice barely a whisper.

He reached for Rowan who recoiled from him so suddenly he almost fell off the other side of the bed, tears streaming from his wide eyes.

"No, no," he blubbered.

"Rowan?" Brynjolf looked dismayed, all kinds of alarm passing his face.

"Don't touch me," Rowan gasped through his sobbing, "Don't you realize what she was? What _I am now_?"

Brynjolf stared at him uncomprehendingly, all he wanted was to gather his hysterical husband into his arms and sooth him.

"What? What are you saying, love?" He burst out, distressed. "I don't understand!"

Rowan shook his head, terrible sobs tearing out of him.

"Rowan, please," Brynjolf reached towards him again.

"No!" Rowan screamed, scrambling back.

That was when Brynjolf saw them, his love's eyes flashing a bright red. Everything he was rambling earlier finally clicked.

He gasped as Rowan fell off the other side of the bed with a thud.

"Rowan!" He cried out, running around the bed towards the fallen heap.

"No!" He shouted, his voice strung with panic as he backed into the wall away from Brynjolf. "Stay away!"

Brynjolf ignored him and captured the hands he was holding up in an attempt to ward him off.

"No," he said.

Rowan sobbed, trying to pull his hands back, "Please let me go, you don't understand-"

"No," Brynjolf said firmly, taking another step forward and almost pressed him up against the wall. "I understand now, I'm not staying away."

Rowan shook his head, his face was turned away as he wept.

"No, no," he sobbed, "You don't. I- I'm, I'll be like her. I'll _hurt _you."

"No," Brynjolf said. "No, you won't, I know you."

Rowan shook his head.

Brynjolf took his chin and gently tilted his head up, until Rowan's tear-filled eyes were fixed on his own.

"I know you," he repeated in a firm yet soft voice, "You will not hurt me and I will not stay away."

"So please," Brynjolf's voice broke as sadness filled his eyes, "Don't push me away."

Fresh tears tumbled out of Rowan's eyes.

"I love you."

His form was wracked with sobs as Rowan wept anew.

Brynjolf pulled him into his arms, ignoring the chill that came from the other's body as he embraced Rowan, stroking his hair and rubbing his back as he cried.

"We'll figure this out together," Brynjolf soothed, kissing him on the temple as he wept into his shoulder.

* * *

Belle returned to the manor as the sun began to cast warmth over the morning chill. In her hand was a basket full of fruits and vegetables.

As she reached into her pouch for the key to the front door, she heard a distant squawk coming from the back of the manor.

Belle paused in her search, casting a suspicious gaze towards the garden.

She placed her basket on the porch and made her way around the manor, careful to keep her feet off the grass.

She slowly turned the corner, bracing herself for what she might find.

"My lord?" She blurted.

Brynjolf startled, almost dropping the large knife in his hand.

He spun to face her, then hurriedly put the knife away on the table behind him, "Hello, Belle. Is there something you need?"

She peered at him curiously and belatedly noticed one of the chickens laid out on the stump, limp and headless.

"What are you doing?"

He blinked, turning to glance at the carcass as if he'd just noticed it.

"Oh, yes," Brynjolf cleared his throat, "Rowan wanted some chicken for, uh, lunch, I suppose."

Belle frowned at him, "But... I could've gone to the market to get some, there's no need to slaughter one of our own chickens, my lord."

"Ah, yes, of course," Brynjolf laughed self-deprecatingly, "I must admit that it slipped my mind, I've been away for far too long, it seems."

Belle just stared at him in confusion.

"Well," Brynjolf haltingly gestured to the dead chicken, "Might as well use it for lunch, then, I'll bring it inside so you can prepare it."

"Yes, my lord," she uttered, casting a final quizzical glance at him before returning to the porch to get her basket.

Brynjolf watched her go and turned around, his eyes falling to the bowl of blood he'd been shielding from her sight.

* * *

Belle was busy sweeping the floor later that morning when the next strange thing happened.

Brynjolf had gone into the study, intending to catch up on town management and paperwork that Rowan had missed when he'd taken ill.

She bent down and found an apple under the dining table where a bite had been taken out of it. She frowned, wondering who had done such a thing.

Belle spotted the cloudy water in the basin next, sighing when it meant that she had to replace it.

She turned and almost dropped the apple in surprise when she caught sight of Rowan standing silently in the doorway.

"My lord," she blurted, "You're up."

He said nothing and just stared at her, his face framed by shadows.

"Are you alright?" Belle felt unnerved by his gaze, his eyes seemed to glow a reddish hue as he kept staring at her, standing still as a statue.

She began to feel afraid when he tilted his head slowly, his eyes fixed on her.

"Yes," he said, his voice hollow, "Everything is just fine."

Belle instinctively took a step back when he walked forwards.

She gasped when Rowan suddenly grabbed her wrist. His grip was bruising, which startled Belle more than anything as he had never so much as touched her while she worked for him.

"No!" She shrieked, "What are you doing!"

Light returned to Rowan's eyes as they widened, like he finally regained his senses.

His eyes flitted to Belle's wrist in his hand. "I-"

"What's going on?"

Rowan turned to see Brynjolf coming from the hall and immediately released her.

"I heard a shout," Brynjolf stated, trailing off as he took in the scene, looking from Belle cradling her wrist, terror and confusion written on her face to Rowan's horrified and guilty look.

"You can have the day off," he said next, nodding at Belle.

She stared at him and fled the room without another word.

He waited until she was out of earshot before turning to his husband.

"Rowan?"

Rowan let out a sob, his hand flying up to cover his mouth.

"I hurt her," he gasped, his voice muffled, "I tried to- I was going to _bite her_."

"Hey," Brynjolf started, reaching for him.

Rowan backed up so quickly, knocking into a cabinet and sending glasses of wine crashing down, staining the wooden floor as they shattered.

"Rowan!" Brynjolf captured his wrists before he could react and pulled him away from the broken glass.

"Calm down," he said, as his husband began to panic at the contact. "Let's think about this, why did you look for Belle?"

Rowan lifted his eyes from their hands, his expression stricken.

"I don't- I was..." He started staring at Brynjolf with slightly glazed over eyes, _"I'm hungry."_

"Why..." Brynjolf frowned, "Did you not drink the blood?"

Rowan licked his lips and he caught a flash of sharp teeth. His voice took on a strange timbre as he murmured, "I did..."

Brynjolf kept frowning at him while Rowan's expression began to turn predatory. He released him and turned to fetch a bowl.

Rowan hardly noticed it, staring at him and swallowing. He reached towards him with a clawed hand when Brynjolf produced a knife from his belt.

He sobered immediately, "Brynjolf, what-"

He gasped as his husband sliced across his forearm, his eyes darkening as dark blood bloomed into a line before it steadily dripped into a bowl.

Rowan took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent coming from the cut.

"Here."

He blinked, realizing that Brynjolf was holding the blood-filled bowl up to him.

Rowan's mouth fell open, both in surprise and dismay when he realized what he had done.

"What..."

"I thought that perhaps animal blood wouldn't be able to satisfy you," Brynjolf explained, "That's a reason why vampires are often heard to be feeding off people, isn't it?"

"But..." Rowan's face crumpled, "I can't."

"It's alright," Brynjolf said softly, "You need it and I'm offering it to you, it's just a bit of blood."

Rowan took the bowl, staring down at the dark liquid sloshing around from the movement.

He exhaled and drained its contents while tears began to stream down his cheeks.

* * *

They quickly discovered that Rowan was unable to go out in the sun without his skin beginning to sizzle like meat on a roast pit.

He ducked back into the shadows as his face turned a painful shade of pink, gasping in shock, pain and fear, Brynjolf's expression almost mirroring his own.

Thankfully, the burn healed quickly, his skin turning back to normal in just a few minutes.

They were lucky that no one had seen that as well, while they passed the front of the manor.

Brynjolf carted him back into the house and decided that he'll go to town in his stead.

Rowan did not look happy about bothering Brynjolf with his work but he didn't quite have a choice in the matter, returning to his study to continue the research of his condition in any book he could find.

A day after that, Rowan slipped out on his own in the evening when the sun was just a sliver over the horizon.

Brynjolf was under the impression that he was in the bedroom where he'd relocated some of his books. He was none the wiser of his escape, consumed by the work that Rowan left to him.

He felt a little guilty about that as Brynjolf was already busy with the management of the Thieves Guild.

But, well, he didn't recall ever asking him to do all that work anyway.

Rowan stood at the edge of the shadow, cautiously putting his hand out in the faint sunlight.

It was warm, much warmer than was comfortable but not the blinding agony of before.

He moved his forearm into the sun and grew certain that he wasn't about to be burnt up.

Rowan took a deep breath and stepped out into the sun.

It felt hot, almost as hot as the sun during the summers back in West Weald even though it was actually quite dim.

Rowan was just happy that it wasn't literally killing him, at the very least.

He stepped out towards the town, ignoring the oppressive heat beating down on him.

Rowan ran into the guard captain on his way to the market.

"Good evening, my lord," he saluted, still clad in his armour and cloak as if it was cold out.

"Good evening," Rowan said, smiling wanly.

"I've word that you were ill, Lord Rowan." He said, "I'm glad that you're better, as with most of the townsfolk."

Rowan nodded absently, his gaze slowly falling upon his neck, the sound of strong, steady heartbeat beginning to drown out his voice.

"Sir?"

Rowan blinked and quickly brought his eyes back up to his face, "Yes?"

The guard captain looked uncomfortable, "Are you feeling alright, my lord? You looked a little... uh, how should I put it... pardon me, strange."

Rowan stared at him and cleared his throat, pulling at his collar because of the heat, "I must apologize, I'm still feeling a little under the weather."

"Well, I wish you a speedy recovery, my lord." He bowed.

Rowan nodded and walked off, internally berating himself for earlier.

The pounding didn't stop, however.

Rowan couldn't help a little gasp, looking up and seeing the townspeople around him, some noticing him and are now looking at him strangely.

He could feel something rising in him, a predatory urge that made his teeth tingle.

There was a sharp prick on the inside of his lower lip.

Rowan slapped a hand over his mouth, realizing that he'd grown fangs. The pounding was loud in his ears, a muted rushing noise in the background that stoked his hunger.

A man walked towards him and his attention snapped to him immediately. He knew who that was, at the back of his mind but all he's aware of are the sweet, viscous blood that runs through his veins.

He was this close to snatching the human's outstretched hand when he regained his senses enough to shrink back, barely suppressing a warning snarl.

That was when someone wrapped their arms around him, spinning him away from the gathering crowd.

He tensed, fingers digging into the arm across his chest.

Rowan relaxed only when he realized that it was Brynjolf, the familiar scent calming him enough to settle the urge deep inside of him, the deep rumble of his voice going through him as he spoke.

He barely remembered what happened after that, the walk home passing in a daze as Brynjolf dragged him back at a hurried pace.

"I thought we agreed that you're to stay inside," Brynjolf started once they're safely hidden in the bedroom.

Rowan kept quiet, still reeling over the fact that he was preying on his own people earlier.

"Rowan?" Brynjolf folded his arms, sounding displeased, "Did you hear what I've just said?"

He startled, looking up at his husband.

"Yes," he blurted and a worried look came over Brynjolf.

"What happened just now?" He questioned, "When you were out."

Rowan looked at him with wide eyes, "I don't- I was-"

He sucked in a breath almost quick enough to choke him.

"I felt _hungry_."

Brynjolf frowned at him in concern, "You didn't tell me it was not enough."

"No, Brynjolf," Rowan said gravely. "I'm not hungry but I... I felt it, the hunger while I was there. Gods- I'm-"

He couldn't help a sob, "I was about t-to attack him."

Brynjolf's eyebrows furrowed as Rowan covered his mouth with both hands as he started crying. He could barely make out the words that were muffled behind his hands.

_"I can't stay here."_

He took Rowan into his arms immediately, feeling despair seeping into him as he wept. He pulled Rowan close,

"Gods, Rowan."

* * *

Brynjolf held him close when they went to bed that night.

When he woke up in the middle of the night, Rowan was gone.

Brynjolf searched the house for him but can't find him anywhere.

Horror seized him at the thought that Rowan had ran away, alone and defenceless against wolves and bandits out in the night.

Apparently he'd made quite the racket in his search that Belle had woken to investigate, her hair messy and eyes alert.

"What are you doing, my lord?" She asked.

"Where's Rowan?" He whirled around at the voice and startled the steward.

"I don't..."

He cursed, looking around wildly.

Brynjolf ignored her calls as he grabbed a cloak and a kitchen knife and ran out into the cold, clammy night in only a pair of sleep pants.

He didn't quite know where Rowan went or how long he'd been gone. He picked the roads towards the mountains to look first and took off in a run, barely stopping to acknowledge the guards who looked surprised to see him.

Brynjolf didn't know how long he'd been looking for until he heard shouts coming from the woods.

He ran, gasping for breath as he struggled to slow his descent over the slope.

He ran across the forest and out onto a roadside.

His blood ran cold when he registered what he's seeing.

Rowan was hunched into himself on the ground, blood dripping from a wound that he'd yet to see. There were cuts and scrapes on his face.

And there was a man in blue and white robes standing over him with a sword that glowed white in the dark.

"No!" He screamed.

He barreled into the man and they both tumbled to the ground.

Brynjolf had forgotten his knife in his panic and tried to wrestle the sword out of his hand.

They struggled, snarling and grunting.

Brynjolf managed to get a solid punch into his jaw, ignoring the pain and bruises where the man struck and kicked him.

The sword flew out of their reach in their scuffle, the blade managing a thin cut on Brynjolf's exposed arm.

The man pulled out a dagger and tried to stab him with it until Brynjolf slammed his head into the hard stone ground.

He pried the dagger out of his hand when he heard a whimper behind him.

Brynjolf turned and realized two things at once.

The sun had risen.

Rowan's burning.

He dropped the dagger, ignoring the dazed groan from the attacker and rushed towards Rowan.

The sickening smell of burning flesh hit his nose.

Brynjolf was a whirlwind of panic as he somehow remembered the cloak that he'd dropped. He grabbed the cloak and wrapped Rowan in it, holding him as desperate gasps slipped out of him.

Rowan did nothing else but sob, shaking in the blanket as he fell against Brynjolf.

The sizzling sound had stopped but the smell still lingers.

Brynjolf barely noticed the tears in his eyes as he babbled and gasped, "It's alright, love. It's alright."

They huddled up against each other and wept, not noticing the man who'd sat up and watched them.

Brynjolf stiffened when he heard the scrape of metal against stone.

He turned to stare up at the man, who glared down at them, his face scratched and bruised.

He was young and had dark hair that's tied into a ponytail, his skin pale and his eyes dark and harsh. Blood trickled from his split lip where it was pulled back in an angry grimace.

He pointed the dagger at Rowan, the blade shimmering with magic.

Brynjolf growled, about to reach out and disarm the man when he spoke.

"Are you a thrall?"

"No," he snapped, opting to stand between him and Rowan.

The man took a deep breath, he still looked angry when he said, "Why are you defending him? Aren't you aware that he's a vampire?"

"I am aware," Brynjolf stared him down determinedly, aware of the shivering bundle behind him. "He is my _husband_."

The stranger's lips parted in surprise. He clicked his jaws shut and said, "You are under his spell."

Brynjolf glared at him, "I am most certainly not. He wouldn't harm me."

"That's what they all say."

Brynjolf clenched his fists as he growled in frustration, "Have you ever seen a thrall?"

The man faltered and he pressed forward, "Do you even know what they look like?"

"No," he admitted, "But I have heard of them, they are ensorcelled, forced to serve under their vampire master and protect it at all costs."

Brynjolf gritted his teeth. Truthfully, he hadn't known what thralls are until the man had mentioned it.

He wondered what he could say next when he felt a nudge on his back.

Brynjolf turned to where Rowan had stood up, still wrapped up in the blanket where he heard soft panting coming from under it.

"It's... too hot," he mumbled miserably, shifting under the covers.

Brynjolf turned to the sky, where the sun slowly inched upwards, brightening the land. He then turned to the vampire hunter, glaring at him, "Leave us alone."

"I will do no such thing."

Brynjolf seriously contemplated killing the man at this point, he eyed the sword lying in the grass.

The man tensed as he saw that, he raised his other hand where it glowed blue and crackled with energy.

Before Brynjolf could dive for the weapon, Rowan had grabbed his arm through the blanket.

He chanced a look back, where Rowan was shaking his head.

"Don't..." he gasped, his voice barely a whisper.

Brynjolf grabbed him when he stumbled, his legs barely holding him up.

He cursed, pulling the cloak more securely over him.

He turned to glare at the man, who's still in the same position, staring intently at them.

"We'll be returning, don't follow us or I'll call the guards on you."

The man scoffed, "What? Are you some sort of noble?"

Brynjolf looked him dead in the eye.

"I am the Lord of Blackthorn."

He left the man standing stunned in the middle of the road as he carried Rowan back home.

He cursed under his breath, retrieved his weapons and followed them, staying well behind.

* * *

They managed to sneak back into the manor without anyone seeing them, just narrowly avoiding a confused-looking Belle who ventured into the town all freshened and dressed.

Brynjolf breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the bed where Rowan collapsed into it immediately, eyes drooping from exhaustion.

He insisted on feeding Rowan after dressing the stab wound in his side, the latter protesting feebly before giving in.

He looked much better after that, dozing deeply in the darkness of their room as the day started outside.

Brynjolf tended to his own wounds later, thankful that the vampire hunter was so inexperienced that they'd managed to get out of it.

He knew that the man would follow them and debated sending guards after him and putting him in jail.

But there's the possibility of the man exposing Rowan. He could also gather some of his friends and they'll have a real problem on their hands.

Brynjolf sighed, rubbing his forehead.

He'll have to kill him, then, without anyone finding out.

It'll have to look like an accident.

Brynjolf was thinking of who to pay off when he heard a commotion downstairs.

He slipped a small dagger into his belt at the back of his pants. He glanced at Rowan's sleeping form before heading out the door.

"Stop, stop right there!" Belle shouted as he closed the door behind him.

He looked down the stairs and found the vampire hunter from earlier storming up the steps with Belle running after him.

He came to a stop at the top of the stairs, a determined look on his face.

"What do you think you're doing?" Brynjolf demanded. "Leave before I call the guards!"

Belle took the hint and scurried back down stairs, the front door slamming close behind her.

"My name is Tristane Hearthwind," the man declared, "I am a Vigilant of Stendarr and I am here to warn you of the danger you are putting yourself in."

Brynjolf glowered at him, "Leave this instance."

"I will not, my lord," he said firmly, "Not until you understand the situation."

"My husband is not a danger!" Brynjolf roared.

Tristane took a step back, startled.

The door opened just then and two of the town guards rushed in with their swords drawn.

"You are making a mistake," Tristane said but Brynjolf could see his resolve wavering as the guards crowded behind him.

Brynjolf was about to order them to drag him to the dungeons when the door to their bedroom opened.

"What's going on?" Rowan stepped out, casting his eyes over at the group.

He straightened immediately upon seeing the guards and took on the air of authority that he'd adopted while serving as the Lord of Blackthorn.

"What is the meaning of this?" He questioned, staring straight at the Vigilant.

Tristane glared at him with his teeth gritted.

"You deserve to be burned, vampire."

One of the guards jabbed his sword into his back, "Hold your tongue, that is the Lord you are speaking to!"

Rowan raised a hand, "Stand down, there is no need for violence."

He lowered it then and cast his gaze over Tristane, as if studying him while the man glared at him.

"We will speak," he finally said.

* * *

Rowan dropped the demeanor when they're alone in the study, the guards standing just outside.

Brynjolf eyed Tristane warily, his hand resting on the dagger on his belt.

"Why did you come to us?" Rowan asked from where he'd taken a seat at his chair.

"I am here to destroy you," Tristane said bluntly.

Rowan's hand shot out to grab Brynjolf by the arm as he surged forward.

"I will cut your tongue out myself!" He spat, stepping back to stand protectively by Rowan.

"Ah, yes," Rowan cleared his throat, "But you sought Brynjolf out and spoke with him first, why?"

"I believe that he is unaware of the danger he is putting himself and the town in," Tristane declared, "I want him to understand why he should not protect the likes of you."

"Because I am a monster?"

Brynjolf spun to face Rowan, "No, don't listen to him-"

"Precisely," Tristane said.

"I understand where you're coming from," Rowan said calmly.

"Rowan!" Brynjolf looked dismayed.

He resolved not to look at his face, "I think so too, myself."

Tristane looked confused for a second before he schooled his features into an unaffected mask.

"I will not be fooled by your lies, vampire," he snapped.

Rowan directed a horrible, pained look at him, one that caused Brynjolf's breath to catch in his throat.

"I was turned not too many nights ago," he said in a rush, "I have yet to wrap my mind around it myself, the hunger, the need to feed on blood just to retain my sanity. I hate that I cannot seem to control myself around my people and fear that I will harm them one day."

Tristane stared at his sorrow-filled eyes as it brimmed with tears.

"I cannot bear it," he admitted with a hitch of his breath. "So I will ask you, perhaps, to spare me this suffering."

"Rowan, no," Brynjolf protested, moving to stand in front of him, "You will ask for no such thing!"

Rowan turned a tear-filled glare on him, his eyes gleaming red. "This is why I told you to wait outside!"

Brynjolf slammed a fist into the table, "This is precisely why I will not leave you alone! You're not thinking clearly, you will retract your foolish request!"

Rowan surged up, grabbing Brynjolf by the collar of his tunic, "You don't know how I'm suffering here, I never asked for this!"

Tristane drew his dagger at the sight.

Brynjolf choked on a breath as he stumbled forward.

Rowan's eyes widened.

He let go of his shirt suddenly, backing away with a horrified look on his face. Brynjolf fell back, stumbling against a chair as he gasped for breath.

He stared at Rowan in disbelief.

He shook his head, tearing up, "This is why, this is why... I _cannot _remain."

"Rowan..." Brynjolf muttered as he reached for him.

"No," Rowan cried out as he snatched his hand back.

He turned to Tristane, who startled at the ferocity of his gaze.

"I need you to do it," he ordered, "End me!"

Brynjolf spun towards him and drew his dagger, "You will do no such thing!"

Tristane hesitated, looking between them both.

"Rowan, will you be reasonable for once!"

"I want my suffering to end!" Rowan snarled at him.

"I suffer too when you are suffering!" Brynjolf shouted back.

"Then isn't it better if I'm no longer here?" Rowan countered with wide-eyes, "So you no longer have to suffer."

Brynjolf stared at him in disbelief.

"Rowan," he uttered in a whisper, "How can I live if you're no longer here?"

Rowan flinched, looking away from him.

"I can't possibly go on without you," Brynjolf begged, "Don't you know that?"

Rowan bit his lip, unable to meet his eyes.

"How could you be so cruel?" Brynjolf whispered, his voice filled with despair.

He stormed out of the room next, letting the door slam behind him.

Tristane gave Rowan an awkward stare, "So, uh..."

"Leave me," he said weakly.

Tristane fled the room immediately, leaving Rowan standing alone in the study.

He found Brynjolf sitting by the river a few minutes later.

He stepped on some dead leaves as he approached, alerting Brynjolf to his presence, where the latter whipped around to regard him, sighed and turned back to face the water.

Tristane cleared his throat, "You're, uh, alright?"

Brynjolf nodded his head, then covered his face with both his hands, "No, I'm not alright. I can't believe that he..."

He heaved a sigh and tucked his arms around himself.

"Are you not supposed to slay him?" Brynjolf asked bitterly.

Tristane paused, "I'm... not sure. This is not what I expected."

"What did you expect then?" He scoffed, "For him to run at you with his fangs out?"

The Vigilant shrugged, "That's usually what the older members tell us, there's not much else."

"Is it wrong?" Brynjolf asked softly, "For me to want to protect him? Wanting him to live?"

"I..."

"He hasn't attacked anyone," he said firmly, "He hadn't the heart to do so, he wouldn't even hurt a damn fly."

Brynjolf shook his head, biting his tongue against the stream of words that threatened to slip free, a string of 'why's and only 'why's.

"I need to check up on him," Brynjolf muttered, standing up and brushing grass from the back of his trousers.

He raised his eyes to meet Tristane's, who lowered his own and stepped back.

Tristane watched as he walked back towards the manor, ignoring the guards who stood watching him suspiciously from the deck.

* * *

Brynjolf had a brief moment of panic when he discovered that Rowan is nowhere to be found inside the study.

He only let out a sigh of relief when he found Rowan in bed, lying with his back turned towards the door.

He quietly made his way over to the bed and sat on the other side, careful not to cause it to creak too loudly.

Rowan stirred anyway, turning to face him with a sleepy look.

"Brynjolf?" He croaked, blinking at him. He yawned, running a hand over his face, "Sorry, 'm tired."

"It's fine," he said tonelessly.

"I'm sorry," Rowan muttered, forcing his eyes open and hesitantly reaching towards his husband.

He faltered, about to retract his hand when Brynjolf took it in his own.

"It's alright," he murmured, eyes softening.

"I forgot to think about you," Rowan mumbled, blinking tiredly, "I was selfish and I forgot about you, I'm sorry."

"You're tired," Brynjolf said gently, "We'll talk about this later, after you wake up."

He nodded and laid back down.

"Good night, husband," he mumbled.

"Good night."

* * *

They decided to move a few days later.

Rowan got the steward to manage Blackthorn in their absence, instructing her about her duties and putting in a letter to the jarl about the developments.

He and Brynjolf agreed on having a house built on the southwestern border of Riften, where it will be located relatively far away from civilisation and where Rowan will be less of a threat to his fellow men.

They have yet to figure out how to keep Rowan fed, as it was anticipated that Brynjolf would have to return to the Guild. He hadn't decided who to pass the role to. While Delvin could handle the Guild on his own, he's much too old by now and Brynjolf hadn't found anyone he trusted enough to hand it off to.

He wrote a letter to Delvin saying he'll be a few weeks late, in the meantime.

While they racked their brains for the solution, the answer walked right up to their doors.

"I've heard that you're... relocating," Tristane said, standing on their porch with his arms folded, his face set in a scowl.

"What about it?" Brynjolf demanded, crossing his arms too, his large form an imposing sight compared to the slighter form of the Breton.

Tristane's scowl deepened, "I can't let him out of my sight, he's a-"

"Say it out loud and I'll show you what I'll do to that measly skull of yours."

Tristane accidentally bit the inside of his lip as he clamped his mouth shut.

He flinched but refused to let his pain show.

"Whatever the case," he fumbled, lowering his voice to a normal pitch, "I'm coming along."

Brynjolf was about to protest, when a thought crossed his mind.

His lips stretched into a devious grin as he leaned against the doorframe, "We'll let you come along on one condition."

Tristane felt unnerved by the display but wouldn't let it get in the way of his duty.

"Name it."

* * *

Brynjolf passed Tristane a knife, handle first.

The Vigilant grimaced at the sight of the blade, gingerly wrapping his hand around the hilt.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered.

"You agreed to it, so don't complain now," Brynjolf said, sounding more gleeful than he should be.

He found it to be justified, this idiot almost killed his husband after all.

They were in the kitchen of the new house, the smell of sawdust still lingering in the air.

Tristane turned pleadingly to Rowan, who sat watching him, trying not to stare hungrily at the man.

He shrugged, "I tried."

"You certainly don't sound regretful enough," Tristane muttered.

"Get on with it," Brynjolf urged, pushing the bowl up to him.

Tristane sighed, taking the bowl and placing it near him. He propped his arm on the table and pulled his sleeve back, exposing his forearm.

He looked uncertainly at both of them.

"Come on," Brynjolf said, "He's hungry, you don't want him to run out into the mountains and attack people, do you?"

"Stop being mean," Rowan said but he didn't sound very reproachful as he kept staring at Tristane's arm.

"I hate both of you," Tristane muttered.

He placed the edge of the blade on his forearm and took a deep breath.

Tristane squeezed his eyes shut as he sliced right across, bracing himself against the sharp sting.

Blood spilled down his arm, dripping into the bowl and onto the table.

"Oh, that's too wide of a cut," Brynjolf said nonchalantly.

He reached out over the table and grabbed Tristane's arm, tilting it so that all the blood fell into the bowl.

Rowan stared at the dripping blood, his pupils dilating like a cat's.

Eventually, the bowl was almost filled to the brim.

Brynjolf tossed a piece of cloth at Tristane, who grabbed it and pressed it to his bleeding wound.

While Rowan gulped down the blood, Tristane whispered a healing spell under his breath and sealed the cut, leaving only a faint pink scar behind that'll eventually heal into nothing on its own.

Tristane removed the blood-stained cloth and glared at Brynjolf.

"What? You agreed to it," Brynjolf said with a raised brow.

"I'm supposed to do this every week?"

"At least every week while I'm not here," Brynjolf said, "You can give him less at a time if you prefer, but that means you'll have to bleed once every few days."

"A week is fine," Tristane muttered, defeated.

Rowan sighed as he placed the bowl back onto the table, licking his lips as he wiped away blood that had gathered on the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. He licked his hand clean afterwards, smacking his lips.

He looked up to where they stared at him and smiled sheepishly, "Sorry."

"Was it good?" Brynjolf asked with a lilt in his voice.

"Yes," he answered immediately, "It's mildly sweet." Rowan licked his lips again, "And so delightfully fragrant, and-"

"Gods, I don't need to hear about that," Tristane muttered, rubbing at his freshly healed cut.

Brynjolf chuckled wickedly.

Tristane glanced at him unhappily as he wiped off the knife with the cloth.

* * *

Brynjolf didn't mind Rowan's new aversion to sunlight. He was perfectly content to spend more nights awake, accompanying him while sleeping during the day.

He didn't care about his new paleness, if it means that he wasn't ill. Nor did he care about how Rowan's eyes shine bright red sometimes, as if they're from a vicious creature. He didn't fear the sharp fangs that protrude from his lips while he was hungry but he did get concerned when Rowan's briefly distressed by their appearance.

He didn't mind his new diet, Brynjolf was happy to provide for him. Rowan seemed to slowly adjust to it as time progressed, he isn't so upset now whenever he had to drink from either of them.

He didn't miss the slightly guilty look Rowan had afterwards and did his best to distract him.

Brynjolf didn't mind how Rowan's body now radiated cold like the chilly wind that heralded the snow, he still wrapped his arms around him every day while they slept.

He was a Nord after all and wasn't as bothered by the cold as others do, he'll gladly hold Rowan even if he's as cold as the waters of the northern sea.

They still behaved as if Rowan wasn't a vampire.

Except, they aren't as intimate anymore.

Rowan seemed hesitant to touch him. He no longer resist his attempts to hold him every night but he'll reject everything else.

Rowan is reluctant to kiss him, to bring his lips near Brynjolf's body. Anything more intimate than that is certainly out of the question.

Brynjolf found that he missed some of their earlier interactions but decided not to push him.

He wouldn't mind it though, even if Rowan's no longer as warm-blooded as he is.

Despite the changes, Brynjolf would not think of him as anything but human.

While he didn't mind the absence of intimacy, sometimes he just couldn't resist.

They laid in bed together after an evening out in the forest, walking and watching the sky light up with greens and blues.

Rowan was lying on his side, partially facing Brynjolf as he blinked sleepily, yawning as the night progresses.

Brynjolf draped an arm over his waist and couldn't help tracing his arm up his side.

Rowan shivered, his eyes flitted towards Brynjolf's face, wide and alert.

"Bryn," he started in a warning tone as he began to turn away.

"No," Brynjolf muttered, pulling him back by his waist.

"But-"

"Let me touch you."

Rowan stared at him in surprise, he stayed still as Brynjolf gazed into his eyes.

"Are we not married?" He asked.

Rowan closed his eyes as Brynjolf caressed his cheek.

"I'm not the same anymore," he muttered, sounding pained.

"I don't mind," Brynjolf whispered, "I never minded. You're still the same to me, you've never changed."

Rowan opened his eyes, frowning at him, "What are you talking about? I'm not the same. I'm not even human."

"No," Brynjolf said, his eyes softening, "You're as human as I am, you're as human as the idiot who's in the room next door. You fear, you worry and you care about others too much to be the monster they think of."

Rowan stared at him mutely.

"What's a vampire who's afraid of hurting people? That's not a vampire at all, that's..." Brynjolf ran his fingers through Rowan's hair, "Human."

Tears shone in Rowan's eyes.

"Kiss me," he said in a choked voice.

Brynjolf leaned forward and captured Rowan's cool lips on his own.

* * *

Tristane stumbled into the kitchen the next morning still in his bedclothes and his dark hair a mess.

He eyed Brynjolf who sat eating a piece of bread with some apples and cheese while Rowan watched him.

"You're disgusting," he declared when they both turned to look at him.

"What?" Brynjolf mumbled through a mouthful of bread while Rowan smirked at him.

"How can you!" He shrieked as he made some exaggerated motions between the both of them.

They just stared at him, Rowan's smirk growing wider.

"I'm moving to another room!" He cried, fleeing the kitchen.

Rowan laughed while Brynjolf rolled his eyes.

* * *

A week later, Rowan stood just inside the house, well out of the sunlight as he watched Brynjolf adjust the saddlebags.

Tristane was just a little further inside the house, glumly bringing out a waterskin as Brynjolf has requested.

"Here," he grumbled as he thrust it at the Nord.

"I see you're somewhat useful after all," Brynjolf said as he took it and tucked it into the saddlebag.

"I hate you too," Tristane muttered.

Brynjolf gave him the stink eye before he turned to Rowan, "Are you sure you want to be left alone with this fool?"

Rowan chuckled, "I'll be alright."

Brynjolf walked in then, pulling Rowan into an embrace.

Tristane couldn't help a look of disgust as they kissed deeply.

"I know," Brynjolf murmured, pulling back to look at him, "I just worry."

"Don't fret, my love," Rowan said tenderly, "I'll be just fine, you can trust him."

"What makes you say so?" Brynjolf asked curiously.

"Well, he reminds me of you," Rowan said with a playful smile, "He will protect me well, despite all that he says otherwise. Just like how you did for years."

Tristane shot a look of disdain at the back of his head.

Brynjolf studied his husband closely.

"Please don't sleep with him," he said, while poking Rowan in the chest.

_"What?"_ The Vigilant squawked.

Rowan chuckled, "I won't. Besides, he isn't half as good looking as you."

Tristane's jaw dropped as he stared at Rowan in hurt and disbelief.

"As it should be," Brynjolf said, planting a final kiss on Rowan's cheek.

They exchanged their farewells and Rowan stood inside, watching as Brynjolf made his way down to the road that'll take him back to Riften.

He sighed when he was gone and turned to walk back into the house.

* * *

Tristane sat polishing his blades, trying to tune out Rowan who looked more and more miserable the longer his husband was gone.

He doesn't know what's worse, the pathetic pining Rowan is doing or the vigorous way they go at it even though someone else is living here with them.

They're both twice his age, for Stendarr's sake!

Tristane endured another sigh and sad muttering and put down his sword.

"Could you stop talking about him for another _second_?" He complained, "You're driving me up the wall!"

Rowan peered at him and he was afraid he'd gone too far when he let out another infuriating sigh.

"My apologies, I just..." Rowan muttered, "It's usually not that bad. I suppose I always had something to do in Blackthorn."

He placed the book onto the table glumly, "I miss it."

Tristane concealed the guilt that threatened to show on his face.

While he fumbled for an apology that wouldn't appear too heartfelt, Rowan spoke again.

"I miss him more, though." He mumbled, "Especially his great, big, sexy muscles."

Tristane promptly tossed all his apologies out the window.

* * *

Rowan was enjoying a quiet walk in the forest one night, anticipating Brynjolf's return on the morrow.

He was enjoying the fresh air of the mountains and the shimmering fireflies when he suddenly felt watched.

There was a heartbeat in the distance which was strange as the area was pretty secluded.

Then there was a loud mechanical click.

Rowan turned, just in time for a bolt to fly out of the dark and strike him in the chest.

He cried out in pain, doubling over and falling to the ground at the searing fire that began to spread through his veins.

He wrapped his hand around the bolt protruding out of his front and let out an animalistic hiss when it burnt his hand as if it was the sun.

When his senses returned, he could hear more mechanical clicks from the same direction.

Rowan didn't waste another moment and stumbled to his feet, cradling his chest.

He fell forward onto his hands and knees just as another bolt whizzed overhead.

He managed to push himself to his feet as more noises erupted from the trees and ran.

* * *

Tristane was half asleep in bed when he heard the front door crash open.

He shot up, forcing himself awake as he unsheathed his sword that he stashed next to his bed.

He opened the door as quietly as he could and crept downstairs.

It was almost pitch black and he began to hear quiet panting from the middle of the sitting room.

"Who's there?" He dared to ask.

A pained whimper was his answer.

"Rowan?" Tristan frowned.

He squinted into the dark of the room and found Rowan on his side on the floor.

"Help... me," Rowan gasped, looking up at him with red eyes that glowed dully.

"Rowan!" Tristane rushed to his side, his eyes finally catching the thing sticking out from the right side of his chest.

"Hold on," Tristane said as he ran to grab a kitchen cloth that seemed clean enough.

He got back to Rowan's side, gingerly putting him on his back and wrapped his hand around the smooth shaft of the bolt.

"Just, I don't know, brace yourself?" He fumbled.

He proceeded to tug at the bolt, hard, hearing it scrape against Rowan's pale flesh as he screamed.

Tristane pressed the cloth to his bleeding wound then, as Rowan moaned in pain, grasping weakly at his chest.

"_Hurts_," he whined.

Tristan stared down at the bolt as he pressed down on the cloth.

"Dawnguard..." he muttered in horror.

Rowan wheezed as he squeezed his eyes shut, the gleaming red disappearing beneath the lids.

"I... need..." he gasped incoherently, a hand grasping tightly onto Tristan's.

Tristane looked down at him, wincing at the pressure.

"This might be a problem," he uttered to himself as Rowan's fangs slid out.

* * *

Brynjolf was riding along at a trot as he travelled back to their home under the afternoon sun.

As he neared the house, he began to notice that something was off.

The flowers and grass along the front looked trampled on, the stems broken and leaves crushed.

The front door was ajar, revealing the inside which looked like it had been ransacked.

Brynjolf jumped off the horse that jerked forward in surprise, rushing into the house on unsteady legs.

Tables and chairs were overturned, plates and pots smashed, cups and books scattered all over the floor.

Brynjolf stepped over the mess and ran upstairs.

All the rooms looked to be in a similar state, their furniture pulled out of place and belongings strewn all over the floor.

He wondered who had done this, was it bandits?

Brynjolf was at a loss, looking all over the room.

When he checked Tristane's room, he found that his weapons and clothes were missing.

He began to suspect that Tristane was behind it, until he found some of his belongings in the overturned room, some religious books and clothing on the floor, his tunic looked like they were stepped over.

Surely he wasn't crafty enough to make up this scene, or willing enough to sacrifice his own things.

Brynjolf walked around the house in a daze and finally spotted bloodstains on the floor.

He desperately searched the house, looking for clues to where they've gone.

Brynjolf eventually headed North towards Ivarstead.

* * *

"Come on," Tristane said as he pulled the vampire by the arm.

Rowan stumbled forward, the hood falling to reveal his disheveled appearance, unkempt hair and bloodstains on the front of his shirt. Dust covered the bottom on his cloak, trickling off bit by bit as he moved.

It was in the middle of the night as they travelled, the half moon shining down on them as the sky lit up in a dozen different colours.

Tristane hurriedly pulled his hood back up, glancing at Rowan worriedly at his distant look.

He tugged on Rowan's arm and guided him down the mountain path.

Tristane froze at the sound of an approaching horse.

He pulled Rowan with him as he darted behind a bush, making the vampire crouch down when he was slow to move.

He held his breath, watching and waiting for whoever it was to show up.

A large, bulky form on horseback emerged from the darkness.

"Bryn..." Rowan murmured, stirring as life begins to return to his eyes.

"Wait!" Tristane hissed, pulling Rowan back down when he started to stand.

"But-"

"Shh," Tristane warned, "It might be someone else."

Rowan stared at him blankly.

Tristane looked at him worriedly.

He turned back to the path where the form grew closer.

Tristane could just make out pale skin and red hair when Rowan burst out from his hiding place.

"Bryn!" He cried out before Tristane could advise him against it.

The figure turned towards him.

"Rowan?" He sounded hopeful.

"Brynjolf," Rowan called out as he ran towards him, "It's me, my love!"

"Rowan!" Brynjolf laughed, eyes lighting up in delight. "Rowan!"

He jumped off the horse and wrapped his arms around Rowan as he dived into his embrace, drawing in his scent as he buried his face in his hair.

"Gods, I was looking for you," Brynjolf muttered, "I thought- I was so afraid."

"I'm here," Rowan gasped, pulling him in a tighter hug.

Tristane slowly walked out from his cover, looking uncertainly at them.

Brynjolf paused when he saw him.

"Tristane."

The Vigilant nodded at him.

He let them rejoice in their reunion for another moment, disregarding how all of them looked a right mess, before urging them to move on.

"We were headed for Shor's Stone before you showed up," Tristane informed.

Brynjolf nodded, holding Rowan tight in one arm.

"Let us be on our way."

Tristane closed the door behind him, entering the room the three of them are sharing in the inn.

Brynjolf was holding his husband close as he slowly drifted off, stroking his hair as he murmured loving words in his ear.

Tristane didn't really want to intrude on their privacy but there weren't any other rooms available.

He sat in the chair and carded a hand through his messy hair.

Brynjolf slowly extricated himself from Rowan's side and sat in the other chair that faced Tristane's.

"What happened?" He asked in a low voice.

Tristane glanced at Rowan who looked to have fallen asleep.

"He was discovered by the Dawnguard," Tristane said. At Brynjolf's confused look, he began to explain. "The Dawnguard are an organisation that specialize in hunting vampires. They were formed not too long ago, under the command of one man who deemed the vampires a rising threat against Skyrim."

"He was shot in the chest," Tristane continued, ignoring Brynjolf's look of horror. "Usually it wouldn't be a problem for vampires as such an injury is minor. But the Dawnguard had developed weapons that are especially effective in killing vampires, a combination of silver and holy enchantments."

"Gods," Brynjolf choked.

"He was lucky that it didn't kill him," Tristane said warily. "But he was badly injured. The weapons of the Dawnguard inhibit a vampire's healing so he needed blood."

Tristane glanced regretfully at Rowan, "The blood I gave was not enough."

Brynjolf stared at him wordlessly.

"There was a beggar in Ivarstead," Tristane muttered. "I had hoped we didn't have to do it. I buried the body afterwards to cover our tracks and we hid in one of the barrows nearby."

Brynjolf glanced at Rowan, "How was he, before I found you two?"

Tristane shook his head, "He didn't seem well. He was quiet ever since he fed on that man."

Brynjolf nodded, sullen.

"You should rest," Tristane said, rising to his feet, "You don't look too well yourself. I'll keep a lookout."

Brynjolf nodded and headed towards the bed.

* * *

Rowan sat staring at Brynjolf as he and the Vigilant tried to decide on where to go next.

"We could go to Kynesgrove next and lie low for a while," Tristane said. "Vampire appearances are infrequent there due to the heat of the sulfur pools."

"You're certain that they won't look there?" Brynjolf asked.

"No," Tristane answered, "But it is unlikely that they will head there if they're on a hunt. We should still be careful, I heard the Dawnguard usually plant informers in towns and cities for vampiric activities."

He happened to glance at Rowan then and was taken aback by the look on his face.

He stared straight at Brynjolf, his gaze mimicking the intensity of a saber-tooth's.

"Rowan?" He called, causing Brynjolf to turn.

He didn't seem to hear it, still staring at his husband with the look of a predator.

"My love?" Brynjolf said, taking a step towards him.

Rowan blinked, he seemed confused at first when he looked at Brynjolf. Then, his eyes widened, his mouth falling open.

"What's wrong?" Brynjolf asked as he approached him.

Rowan shook his head, managing a shaky "Nothing".

Brynjolf turned to Tristane, who shot him a look of unease.

* * *

They were on the road to Kynesgrove when it happened.

Rowan heard them first, a sharp, mechanical click from the darkness.

He leapt off the horse immediately where a crossbow bolt embedded itself into the back of its neck.

The horse reared as it let out a pained whinny, galloping off into the forest in panic.

"Get to the trees!" Tristane shouted, a bolt narrowly missing him as he ran.

Brynjolf grasped Rowan by the wrist and dashed into the forest as a bolt stuck into a tree.

He vaguely saw figures running out of their covers, inwardly cursing them as he pulled Rowan along.

"We need to hide," Brynjolf started, crying out in pain as a crossbow bolt struck him in the shoulder, having been fired from where they're headed towards.

"Brynjolf!"

Tristane drew his sword, backing up towards the two as a Nord woman walked out from the trees with her crossbow pointed at him.

"It was a trap," he muttered, glancing the other way to see two men approaching them with their crossbows aimed at them.

On the left was an Orc who had his light hair tied a ponytail, his face in a dark scowl as he regarded the group.

Tristane recognized him a second later.

It was Durak, the Dawnguard member who'd been going around trying to recruit people into their ranks.

Beside him was a Breton with short blonde hair and piercing eyes. His expression was one of focus as he pointed his weapon at Rowan.

"Shoot them," Durak ordered.

Tristane gritted his teeth as the Breton raised his crossbow.

He summoned lightning into his hand and shot them at the two Dawnguard in a split second. His aim had never been great and he hoped that he didn't hit Brynjolf or Rowan with that as he drew up a shield just in time to block the bolt fired from the woman.

He rushed forward immediately, charging her with his sword.

She deflected his strike with the crossbow, cursing under her breath as he drew his dagger and wielded it in his other hand.

Tristane swung his sword with his right, catching her crossbow with a clash. It created an opening and he tried to strike her with his dagger only to be kicked in his side from the right.

She brought the crossbow back in a violent swing, causing him to drop the sword and bashed him in the face with her weapon.

Tristane staggered back as she put away her crossbow and drew her sword.

As he summoned more lightning into his free hand, he caught a glimpse of Brynjolf fighting off the two men. He had somehow disarmed the two and are keeping them busy with his daggers, keeping them well away from Rowan who was crouching in the bush far behind him, a frightened look on his face.

"You're a traitor to your own kind, Vigilant," the Nord woman hissed.

"Perhaps if we all take a step back and talk this out," Tristane suggested half-heartedly.

"Never!" She growled.

"Well, I expected that answer," he muttered under his breath, hoping he'll be able to withstand her attacks as she's clearly a much better fighter than he was.

She made the first move, swinging her sword in a wide arc.

Tristane couldn't hope to parry that with a measly little dagger and jumped back, keeping his lightning to himself to conserve energy.

She rushed forward on the next strike, a sword swing backwards from the first.

Tristane's eyes widened at the blade shining in the moonlight as he stepped back as quickly as he could.

An arc of lightning flew from his finger, striking her in the neck.

She simply took it with a guttural growl in her throat and rushed forward.

Tristane ducked just as the sword sliced across the tree behind him, sending pieces of bark flying.

From the corner of his eye, he saw that Brynjolf is now up against Durak, while Rowan is frantically dodging the attacks of the other man, making no move to strike back as he cursed and yelped.

How could anyone think that he was dangerous, Tristane thought to himself.

He sliced his blade downwards, managing to cut his opponent in the thigh.

Instead of slowing her down, that somehow just made her angrier.

"Have I told you that I didn't want to do this?" Tristane tried, panting as he began to run out of breath.

"Die!"

Tristane gasped as her sword bit into his side.

He dodged her next swing, clutching his bleeding waist with a hand.

He wasn't quite lucky on her next attack when she struck him in the face with the hilt of her sword.

Tristane stumbled, dazed.

She kicked him in the stomach next, sending him sprawling to the ground with a hand clutching his stomach.

Tristane rolled away just as the sword struck the ground next to him.

He got onto his knees, dropping his dagger as the woman raised her sword.

"Stop," he gasped, holding up his hands, "I yield, I yield!"

She paused, narrowing her eyes at him.

Tristane's mind was racing, he was planning to blast her with a huge bolt of lightning, either to kill her or to stun her, then grab his dagger and stab her in the neck before going to help Brynjolf and Rowan.

But when she foolishly lowered her sword, he hesitated.

He found that he didn't have the heart to take the life of another innocent, once was already enough.

The Nord woman held the sword to his throat and he flinched, shutting his eyes.

What made his eyes open was a loud, ominous howl behind him.

It was low, sounding demonic and mournful, making his hair stand and sending a chill down his spine.

He dared to turn around.

Tristane's blood froze when he saw two bodies on the ground.

One was of the Breton, who was stumbling to his feet while clutching his sword arm. The other body was Brynjolf.

And he wasn't moving.

He gasped, noticing the darkness beginning to pool beneath him.

There was so much blood.

Rowan was hunched over his husband, clutching at him and covered in his blood. The dark, pained howling was coming from him.

Tristane stared at him, transfixed.

He just noticed Durak limping out from the trees, a crossbow in his hand. There was loud clicking as he reloaded and aimed it at Rowan.

"No!" Tristane screamed hoarsely, forgetting the Nord woman as he turned and scrambled towards him.

Durak turned his crossbow towards him.

Tristane faltered, raising his arms in surrender.

At the same time, Rowan's head whipped up, his eyes glowing bright red.

He let out a demonic screech and rushed towards Durak at a terrifying speed.

"No!" Tristane cried out.

Durak turned back towards Rowan, no doubt cursing his mistakes.

Tristane somehow managed to run past him and crashed into Rowan as the bolt grazed his left side.

He landed on top of the vampire, who kicked and fought to get him off so he could kill the man behind him.

"Don't," Tristane gasped, already out of breath and hurt since the fight earlier as he struggled to keep Rowan down. "You're not a killer. Don't let this turn you into the monster they called you."

"They killed him," Rowan howled, his voice more demon than human, "_They killed him_!"

Tristane thought Rowan would break free, for he no longer had the strength to pin him down.

He didn't expect the other man to sag and break down, his echoing sobs and howls breaking his heart into pieces.

Tristane didn't know what to do as he sat up and stared at him, as he rolled onto his side and stayed there, seemingly having no strength to do anything else but weep so heartbrokenly that he felt his sorrow keenly as if it his own.

He turned to Brynjolf's body, feeling quite numb. He could hardly believe that he's dead.

A loud crack sounded next to him.

Tristane turned to see the crossbow pointed at him, Durak standing on its other end.

He knew he was going to die, still feeling numb and half in acceptance while the other half of him felt a shock at the thought.

He flinched when the Breton pushed the crossbow out of the line of fire, the sharp movement making him think that it'd been fired.

"What are you doing?" Durak demanded.

"Something's not right," the Breton said, studying him and Rowan with a forced look of detachment.

"They need to be destroyed, the vampire and his thralls are a danger to humanity," Durak spat, turning the crossbow back onto Tristane.

"What?" Tristane blurted, coming out of his daze. "You just _murdered_ a man!"

"He is a thrall," Durak spat, "As you are."

Tristane couldn't help it, he exploded, "I am not a thrall, I am a Vigilant of Stendarr!"

"I find that hard to believe," Durak hissed, still aiming the crossbow at him.

"Sir," the Breton chimed in, "Maybe we should hear them out."

"Are you defying me?" Durak snarled as he turned the crossbow onto him.

"No, sir," the Breton said calmly, "I'm just trying to be rational."

"He's a monster!" Durak snapped, gesturing to Rowan who's still lying on the ground, sobbing. "A creature of the night who preys on the innocent!"

"He'd never preyed on anyone!" Tristane protested, "I have seen that with my own eyes!"

"He has charmed you, Vigilant!"

"He doesn't look charmed to me," the Breton said.

The Nord woman looked between them with uncertainty, she seemed affected by Rowan's devastated cries.

"You don't know that," Durak said.

"He just tackled his vampire master to save your life!"

"It could be a ploy for us to fight amongst ourselves as we're doing now!"

"I don't think that's it, their "ploy" looks genuine to me."

Durak glared at the Breton, "Perhaps the vampire has _you _under his spell!"

The Breton gaped at him, "That is absurd! Tell him, Vori!"

Vori looks between the two of them in confusion.

"He is under that creature's spell," Durak snarled, "Subdue him!"

Tristane himself was at a loss of what to do.

He turned to Rowan and felt his stomach drop and his heart freeze.

Rowan was on his knees and holding a dagger that's pointed at his own heart.

"NO!"

Tristane was too late.

Rowan stabbed himself in the chest, the blade breaking past his sternum, striking flesh as it was embedded up to the hilt.

He made no noise as he collapsed, crumpling onto the ground as Tristane dropped to his side.

He's already dead.

Tristane's hands hovered over his body, gasping in shock and sorrow.

The group of Dawnguard stared at him in silence as he choked on his cries.

"That takes care of that," Durak muttered remorselessly.

"You murderer," Tristane shrieked, turning to him. "You killed a man and caused another to take his own life! _You killed them both!_"

He rose to meet Durak, who backhanded him, the force sending him crumpling back into the ground.

_"Monster!"_ Tristane screamed, "You are a monster!"

He got back onto his feet, glaring at Durak, "Why don't you kill me too, I am a thrall am I not?"

Durak shoved him as he tried to attack him again.

"I have no business with you, Vigilant," he spat, turning to walk away.

"Monster!" Tristane howled from the ground, _"MONSTER!" _

The two others gave him a look varying between uncertainty and pity as they left.

They didn't even take the godawful knife with them.

* * *

Tristane returned to Blackthorn with their bodies.

When the guards came out to arrest him, he could hardly care. They eventually realized that he didn't have anything to do with their deaths and released him.

Tristane didn't speak with anyone while he paid his respects at their funeral and left promptly.

He returned to the Hall of the Vigilant and continued his work.

However, he soon renounced his oaths and duties as a Vigilant, as he found that he no longer believes in their ways despite all that they preach.

Stendarr is named the god of mercy and yet the Vigilants have none.

He later became a follower of Mara, spending his days preaching her words of love and compassion, helping the sick and the poor. Never did he raise a hand against another, not to attack nor to retaliate.

And he never did forget Rowan, who had a kinder and more compassionate heart than most men, or Brynjolf who held more love and devotion than any man could carry.

He never forgets.

* * *

**A/N: Poor Rowan and Brynjolf :( I was not happy when I thought of this. Anyways, all the Dawnguard mentioned exists in the game except for the Breton. He's the protagonist of the Dawnguard storyline. I didn't get the opportunity to slip in his name. It's Edwyn. And due to this event, he doesn't immediately try to kill Serana when he releases her in that storyline. Also, I have chosen Durak instead of any other members for this role as his profile fits this. And I have meticulously looked through all their info. The only other person who fits the bill is Isran but I wouldn't put him in this as he most likely won't spare Tristane after. Durak is less likely to be merciful as he's blinded by vengeance to see what's before him, while the others didn't have enough of a feud against the vampires to be as remorseless as he is afterwards. Also, he actually did feel a slight bit of guilt but he never showed it, ahem. **

**I promise that the next one isn't sad, but this isn't only the sad one. We'll see it when the randomiser spits it out at me, lol. **


	13. When attraction is a bad idea

Brynjolf was in the training room, focusing at the dummy placed on the next floor, on the circular target painted on its rough, woven surface.

He exhaled, feeling the weight of the small knife held in his hand. It was dull on the side, only the tip was sharpened to a wicked point.

He stared hard at the target, stared right at its leering, smiley face.

Next to him was a couple throwing knives lying on a table, next to them was his elven dagger that he'd taken off his belt for the moment.

Brynjolf flexed his fingers, testing his grip on the throwing knife.

He drew his arm back and threw the knife, the blade slicing through the air and sticking in the middle of the target right up to the hilt.

Brynjolf studied the knife, then nodded to himself, satisfied with the results.

He decided to aim for one of the crossed out eyes next, tossing the knife once in the air as he readied himself.

He let out a deep exhale as he resumed his stance and went still.

The knife sailed through the air and struck the middle of its left eye in a split second.

Brynjolf picked up his third knife, wondering where to throw it next when the door to the training room crashed open, startling him so much that he jumped.

He turned, his glare landing on none other than Rowan, the bane of his existence.

"Sorry," the rogue said with a sheepish smile.

"What do you want?" Brynjolf grumbled, twirling the knife between his fingers.

"Are you training?" Rowan asked.

Brynjolf was about to answer, then realized exactly what's wrong with this scene here.

Rowan never entered the training room, at least this one, which was meant for combat.

"What are you doing here?" Brynjolf asked suspiciously.

"Um, training?" Rowan tried, looking over at the rack of weapons.

"I find that hard to believe," Brynjolf said, punctuating his words by pointing his knife at Rowan and ignoring how positively fetching he looks today. "What are you really doing here?"

Rowan stared down at the knife, "Well, perhaps I have finally wisened up and realized that it's better to be able to defend myself in situations where I am unable to escape or talk my way out of trouble. Therefore, I am really here to train."

Brynjolf stayed still as he looked up with an infuriatingly adorable smirk and said, "Or, seeing that you're here, I might be able to convince you to train me, hmm?"

He managed not to react when Rowan winked, that bastard.

"Go and seduce someone else," Brynjolf snapped as he lowered his knife, "I am not going to tolerate any more shenanigans from you."

Rowan looked appalled, "This is not a shenanigan, I'm here to train!"

As if he's going to fall for that.

"Find someone else," Brynjolf said, trying to tune him out.

Maybe he'll aim for the dummy's crotch this time, just to send a message.

Or not, that does seem a bit much.

He glanced at Rowan and was really unhappy to see that he's pouting.

It's so unfair that he's adorable when this expression is supposed to disgust him.

"Pleaseeeee Brynny," Rowan begged, fluttering his eyelashes as if it's in anyway attractive.

Brynjolf garnered all the self-control that he ever had and threw the knife.

It struck deep in the target's stomach, nowhere near where he was aiming, as if he's even aiming at all.

"Wow, are you teaching me to do that?" Rowan said, staring at the knife with his eyes lit up like a child's.

Brynjolf gave him a look that conveyed that he is utterly unimpressed. He knew that Rowan knew that throw just now is absolute garbage.

"Don't you have someone else to bother?" He groused, running out of ideas to chase Rowan off except for making him the target of his knife throwing.

But he didn't quite have the heart to do it, apparently.

Perhaps he might have to end up training the fool, it'll just have to be a little more impersonal than usual.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Rowan asked.

Brynjolf very quickly noticed the change in subject and is now sure that Rowan isn't here to train at all.

He studied the man closely, peering at him with narrowed eyes, "Have you been drinking?"

Rowan looked appalled, "What? I'll have you know that not a single drop of ale has touched my lips today!"

"Well, good," Brynjolf said distrustfully, turning to pick up his dagger.

"Your lips on the other hand looks absolutely delectable."

Brynjolf paused, his hand hovering over the dagger. He ran through Rowan's exact wording through his mind.

"What other alcoholic drink has not touched your lips today?" He questioned, turning an accusing eye on him.

Rowan seemingly puffed up for some reason.

"I'll have you know that none other alcoholic drinks have not touched my lips today!" He declared self righteously.

Brynjolf raised a brow at him.

Rowan's expression faltered and he blushes. He made a show of clearing his throat and said, "I mean- Look, I didn't drink anything other than water, alright? In fact, I don't think I want to look at alcohol again."

Brynjolf shrugged and fastened the dagger to his belt, "That's what they all say..."

"Damn it," Rowan muttered under his breath, almost too soft for him to catch.

He seemed to deflate, shifting his footing, "What I meant to say was... I just wanted to talk."

This is new. Brynjolf resisted the urge to raise his eyebrows as he adopted a deadpan expression.

"You want to talk about...?" He ventured cautiously.

Rowan hesitated, Brynjolf hadn't really seen that before either.

But as he opened his mouth, the door swung open and Vex walked in.

"The angry old fool is calling for you," she said to Brynjolf.

Her eyes landed on Rowan then, "But not you so you'd better not follow, you nosy prick."

Rowan huffed, a amused smile, slightly strained graced his lips, "Did he call me that?"

"No," Vex said bluntly. "But he mentioned something along those lines."

Rowan smirked, an expression that's all too familiar to Brynjolf.

"You flatter me, milady," Rowan did a mock bow.

Vex directed a harsh glare onto him, "You'll know well not to stick you nose where it doesn't belong."

"I can see a lot of places where I can stick my nose into," Rowan waggled his eyebrows.

Vex just glared at him.

She turned to Brynjolf, "Well, what are you standing there for? Hurry up!"

Rowan clicked his tongue as she left, "Pushy, pushy."

When Brynjolf turned to him, Rowan seemed startled.

"Perhaps I'll see you later?" He said uncertainly.

"Perhaps," Brynjolf said as he left, finding that things seemed a lot more strange today than usual.

* * *

**A/N: Initially, this chapter is going to contain this and some backstory. Oh well, that might just spawn an additional chapter for us, somewhere.**

**Also, many things that are mentioned casually are clues, if you don't already know.**

**If you're invested in this, you might want to keep a note to keep track of all the little details. For example, Rowan was mentioned (by someone else) that he said he doesn't get drunk, but this chapter had Brynjolf accusing him of being a drunkard. And if you remember, Rowan woke up feeling awful next to a few empty wine bottles and then threw up, suggesting that he's hungover. There's also a note that might hint to why.**

**Hmmmm.**


	14. A new hand touches the beacon

Rowan stuck to the shadows, easily avoiding a mage who walked past him and further into the keep.

He found these mages easier to avoid than the warriors and archers, probably because they have more things to think about.

There's never any reason for him to snoop about in a keep full of rogue mages.

He did, however, hear some rumours that these crazy mages have stolen some really valuable treasure.

Since the Guild is now reluctant in giving him any good jobs, he'll have to find some way to make up for his empty pockets.

Usually this wouldn't be a problem but he had some pretty expensive plans right now. And those plans can only be brought to fruition if he pays.

Sometimes he wished he can steal smithing skills instead of having to go through all these trouble.

After an hour of searching, Rowan was almost blasted to death by a flame atronach, was struck twice by magical traps that shot lightning at him and had to hide in a dirty barrel when the mages realized that someone else is here with them.

Now he knows why one doesn't go snooping around inattentive, evil mages. They have the magical traps to make up for it.

Rowan clambered out of the barrel when the coast is clear, wrinkling his nose at the smell of half-rotten cabbages. There's also a slight burnt smell coming from somewhere.

Rowan ran his fingers through his hair and blanched to find that the ends on the back of his head are singed.

Oh, his poor hair.

He'll never sneak around evil mages again.

Rowan was about to look for his way out when he spotted what looked like a sleeping quarters.

He slipped in through the doorway, gingerly pushing the door open a little bit more.

It let out the tiniest of squeaks which made him cringe.

There were six beds in the room, each with their own chests and side tables. There was a man sleeping in one of the corner beds, snoring softly. He scanned the room carefully and could not see anything resembling one of their strange traps. He supposed they wouldn't trap their own rooms but you can't be sure.

Rowan tiptoed into the room, sidling up to the nearest chest.

It was locked.

He took out a set of lock picks and began work on it. The lock looked simple enough and it shouldn't take him too long to get it open.

As soon as he got it to the first lever, however, a spark shot out from the lock and struck his fingers.

Rowan hissed and dropped the pick, sticking his throbbing finger in his mouth.

He glanced at the mage and was a little relived to find him still asleep.

Rowan decided to give up on the lock and went to check the other chests.

He found an unlocked chest and found some crystals inside of it.

Soul gems, he recalled.

These are not as big as some he'd seen before but they'll fetch a high price from the right buyers.

Rowan pocketed the gems and resumed his search through the chest.

He found a ring that glowed with a faint green light.

Enchanted items have good value as well, he'll have to find out what magic is bound on the ring before he'll sell it.

Rowan found a few more trinkets before moving onto the rest of the chests.

The next few are locked as well.

Rowan rejoiced when the fifth chest was easily lifted open.

When he peered into the chest, he found quite a number of items as well, books and soul gems and some clothing.

What caught his eye was a large white sphere-like shape with a number of flat surfaces.

It looked strange, like some sculptor had painstaking carved a sphere out of marble and then proceeded to knock chunks out of the surface with a chisel.

Rowan reached into the chest to pick it up.

As soon as he did it, a voice boomed in the room.

**"A NEW HAND TOUCHES THE BEACON."**

He cursed and dropped the object. It clattered to the floor and rolled under the bed of the sleeping mage.

The voice did not stop talking.

**"LISTEN. HEAR ME AND OBEY."**

Rowan dived under another bed, afraid that the sleeping mage was woken by the loud voice and that the mages outside have heard it too.

The voice didn't seem to notice his plight and went on.

**"LISTEN, MORTAL." **It said in what began to sound like annoyance.** "A FOUL DARKNESS HAS SEEPED INTO MY TEMPLE."**

Temple? Was that a goddess?

Rowan peered out from under the bed to see that the mage is still asleep.

Was it all just in his head or was the man a really heavy sleeper?

**"A DARKNESS THAT YOU WILL DESTROY-"**

"Wait, wait," Rowan interrupted in a whisper.

The goddess paused, then continued in an impatient tone,** "WHAT IS IT, MORTAL?"**

So she's not deaf to his words after all. Rowan was seriously doubting that she'll stop, considering the deafening tirade she was going on.

"Well, you see, what should I call you?" Rowan said in the same soft voice, cautiously watching the sleeping mage.

**"I AM MERIDIA, THE PRINCE OF LIFE AND LADY OF INFINITE ENERGIES AND YOU WILL HEED MY CALL-"**

"Alright, alright," Rowan hissed when the mage turned in his bed, "I mean no offence but I am in a bit of a predicament right now, can we talk later when I'm in a safer place?"

Meridia was silent for a long moment.

**"VERY WELL, MORTAL,"** she said in an obvious tone of displeasure.** "I WILL WAIT."**

Rowan heaved a sigh of relief and carefully slid out from under the bed.

He crept over to the bed that the beacon has fallen under, glancing at the mage before he looks under the bed.

The thing had fallen quite far in and Rowan had to lower himself to the floor and push himself under the bed.

He retrieved it easily and pocketed it in one of the larger pouch on his belt.

As he pulled his legs from under the bed, his foot caught on a chamber pot that was apparently hidden by the foot of the bed. It caused the pot to tip over, spilling its contents as well as sending a deafening clang throughout the room.

The mage opened his eyes.

Rowan ran out of the room without a moment to lose as the sound of icy winds dogged his steps.

* * *

He eventually made it out into a meadow, wheezing as he collapsed onto his knees.

**"HEAR ME, MORTAL-"**

"Wait," Rowan gasped, "Please, wait just... a second... I need to... breathe..."

Meridia went silent as he crawled forward and fell onto his back.

He didn't think it was so difficult to lose the crazy mages that he'd ran out of stamina just like that.

Rowan laid on the grass, catching his breath until his heart was no longer beating so wildly.

He sat up and brushed grass off his back.

"Alright, uh, Lady Meridia-"

**"FINALLY." **She said, startling him, **"HEAR ME, MORTAL. YOU WILL DESTROY THE FOUL DARKNESS THAT IS IN MY TEMPLE-"**

"Hold on," Rowan said, holding a finger up.

**"WHAT IS IT **_**NOW**_**?" **Meridia snapped, her sharp voice piercing through his head.

Rowan rubbed his ear absently, "You keep talking about this darkness in your temple, what exactly is it?"

**"THE DARKNESS,"** Meridia said angrily, **"MY TEMPLE HAS BEEN TAKEN OVER BY THE UNDEAD, NECROMANCY, THE FOULNESS OF IT, THE UNNATURAL, BLACK MAGIC. IT MUST BE PURGED! IT MUST BE REMOVED! YOU WILL RETURN MY BEACON TO MOUNT KILKREATH AND I WILL MAKE YOU AN INSTRUMENT OF MY CLEANSING LIGHT..."**

"Oookay," Rowan said, "That sounds good and all but I don't think I am qualified for this task."

**"WHAT?"** Meridia snapped,** "NO, YOU MUST REMOVE THIS DARKNESS-"**

"Right, right," Rowan said.

**"I COMMAND YOU-"**

"I'm more likely to die than succeed in removing the darkness," Rowan mentioned before she could go on. "You mentioned the undead and well, I can't fight."

**"YOU- YOU CAN'T?"**

"Nope."

**"CAN YOU NOT WIELD A BLADE?"** Meridia inquired, **"DO YOU NOT HAVE MAGIC?"**

"No and no," Rowan said, "Did you see what happened with those mages just now? Can you even see what's happening?"

**"I SEE ALL, MORTAL," **Meridia said arrogantly.

"Well, then you see how I am certainly unqualified for this quest of yours," Rowan reasoned.

Meridia was silent, clearly displeased.

"So I think you'd better ask someone else."

**"YOU HAVE MY BEACON."**

Rowan paused.

"Oh, this thing?" He uttered as he pulled the object out of his pouch.

"**YES, LEAVE IT."** She ordered, **"AND I WILL SEEK OUT A MORTAL THAT IS MORE... CAPABLE."**

Rowan was about to put it on the ground as told when he hesitated.

**"WELL, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?"** Meridia demanded, then asked in a hopeful tone, **"OR DID YOU CHANGE** **YOUR MIND?"**

"No," Rowan replied.

"But I might know someone who's suited for this quest."

* * *

Ondolemar unfastened his robes and was about to pull them off when he felt like there was someone staring right at him.

Lightning sparkled and danced in his hand as he slowly raised it.

He spun around and was about to throw it in the general location of the presence when a rogue popped out of nowhere.

"Whoa wait," he cried out, throwing his hands up, "Don't shoot me, I've already been hit by way too many magic bolts this week!"

"Rowan?" He blurted, the lightning dissipated from his hand.

"Hello," Rowan said, his hands still in the air, "I was totally not watching you disrobe or anything."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Ondolemar demanded, pulling the front of his robes closed.

Rowan looked mildly disappointed.

He lowered his hands, though and said with a smile, "I passed Markarth and thought I might come and see you."

Ondolemar rolled his eyes, "Yes, I am very touched. Now get out of here before I call the guards."

"But..." Rowan pouted, "Didn't you miss me?"

Ondolemar gave him an icy stare as he crossed his arms, "No, get the hell out of my chambers!"

Rowan hung his head, his voice reduced to despair, "Oh, alright."

Ondolemar stared at him as he stood up to leave, his back hunched over.

Rowan was almost at the door when he called out, "Wait!"

He turned and Ondolemar was faced away from him.

"You can stay," he declared, "But there will be no repeats of that last time, you hear me?"

He peeked at Rowan to see him smiling brightly.

"Okay," he said, heading towards Ondolemar and throwing him a tight hug.

The elf was startled but he managed not to react, standing stiffly as Rowan _nuzzled_ against his chest.

He tried not to blush and shoved Rowan away, the latter stumbling with a stupid smile still on his face.

"Did I tell you how much I like you?" He mentioned dreamily.

"Whatever," Ondolemar grumbled, "Just don't bug me, I have things to do."

Rowan pouted, "So, no hugs?"

"No."

"No kisses?"

"No."

"Not even sex?"

Ondolemar spluttered, "_What? No! Absolutely not!" _

Rowan gave him a pitiful look.

"Stop that this instance!" The elf ordered shakily, "You look like a kicked puppy."

"But you like puppies," Rowan smirked.

"I do not," he said firmly, "Now, get out."

"You said I can stay!" Rowan whined.

"You've overstayed your welcome," Ondolemar said, walking up to the door the throwing it open. "Now get out!"

"I was just teasing," Rowan grumbled, walking out.

Ondolemar eyed him suspiciously as he left, fully expecting him to run back in.

He didn't.

That was even more suspicious.

He didn't quite care at the moment, though.

Ondolemar shut the door and leaned against it, sighing.

He couldn't handle another moment of that man, despite how he doesn't really mind his presence.

Ondolemar pushed his back against the door when he felt something hard press into the small of his back.

He was puzzled, slipping his hand into the pouch on his belt to find what seems to be a bag of money inside.

Ondolemar was sure it wasn't his as he opened it up.

Inside the bag was a strangely shaped white stone.

Curiously, he took it out of the bag.

As soon as his hand touched the thing, a loud voice boomed in his room.

**"A NEW HAND TOUCHES THE BEACON."**

He cursed and dropped it.


	15. When your love isn't good enough

**A/N: Well, I don't actually want to do another Ondolemar chapter this soon but fate (randomizer) demands it, so here it is.**

**By the way, this chapter is a part of a short storyline so it's not over yet. But it won't be the next chapter (as dictated by fate), so I'll mention this chapter again when the next part for this storyline comes out.**

**Also, to make it needlessly more complicated for no darn reason, there's two endings for this and therefore, two parts.**

**Oh, well.**

* * *

Ondolemar walked through the streets of Markarth, accompanied by two of his personal guards.

He ignored the stares of the citizens as he strode past. It wasn't often that he'll take it upon himself to patrol the roads frequented by the commoners, preferring instead to stay at the Keep and monitor the activities of Jarl Igmund, his allies and enemies.

It is too bad that this is part of his job as dictated by the higher ups.

As he approached the Northeastern part of the city, he quickly noticed a man glaring at him out of the corner of his eye.

Ondolemar turned to face him, where the Nord kept staring at him defiantly.

Before he could issue the order, a woman had rushed up to the man and quickly dragged him away, scolding him with hushed tones.

The Thalmor Justiciar stiffly turned away, pretending that he hadn't seen anything.

"What is it, sir?" One of his guards prompted when he noticed Ondolemar's strange behaviour.

"It is nothing," he said calmly, making to leave the area. "Let's continue."

"Should we head to the temple of Talos, sir?" The other guard asked, "If there were heretics going to worship him in secret, we might be able to catch them in the act."

"No," Ondolemar answered immediately, "Any one who does that will have fled by the time we reach the temple."

"Yes sir," the guard bowed slightly.

"I will visit the mines next," Ondolemar decided, "We'll interrogate anyone who were arrested for heresy."

Which he'll expect there to be none, as if the Nords will betray one of their own for worshipping their god.

"Yes, sir," the guards said.

As he walked past the inn towards the river, a light rain had begun to fall over the city.

He sighed and pulled the hood of his robes further over his head, trying his best to shield his head from the rain.

The quicker he could make it to the dungeons, the quicker he'll confirm that no idiotic men had been thrown in the mines for praying to Talos and stupidly getting caught for it, then the faster he could get out of this rain and retreat to the relative solitude of the Keep.

Ondolemar quickened his pace, ignoring the chill that began to descend upon them with the rain that grew progressively heavier.

It had turned into a downpour by the time he reached the river.

Damn Skyrim and its bitter cold weathers.

He was about to rush right past the Warrens when he noticed a hunched over figure right by the entrance.

Ondolemar abruptly stopped in his tracks. He ignored both of his guards who crashed into each other and fell into the river while he turned to regard the figure.

The figure was a man. He was wearing yellowed rags, looking cold and wet as he half-heartedly shielded himself from the rain. The ratty clothes hung limply from his frame, revealing just how thin and miserable he looked.

Dirt covered his skin that aren't already covered by his clothes. He's not wearing any shoes, his shoulder-length hair is flat and limp. He has grown quite a thick beard.

Ondolemar was shocked to recognise him.

Rowan stumbled awkwardly over the slick rocks, muttering something to himself while Ondolemar stared at him with wide eyes.

He fell over the third time he tripped and the elf instinctively reached out for him but was too late.

Rowan hit his head on the wall as he went down, Ondolemar letting out a startled noise as he grabbed him by his arms.

They were so _thin_.

Rowan cast his gaze upon him when he was grabbed, his dark blue eyes mirrored Ondolemar's as he stared back in what seems to be shock.

"Rowan," Ondolemar breathed, feeling as if he's in some sort of terrible dream.

The dark haired man let out an incomprehensible noise, feebly pulling away from the elf who found that he didn't know what to do.

He lowered Rowan to the ground before letting go and the man scrambled away from him, putting as much distance between them as he could while staring back at Ondolemar as if he couldn't recognise him.

Something cracked inside him at the sight.

Ondolemar lightly rubbed at his chest, ignoring the way the rain now soaked into his clothes.

He glanced at his guards who are helping each other crawl out of the river and back at Rowan who's beginning to ignore his presence as he stared down at nothing.

An excuse formed at the tip of his tongue.

* * *

It seemed like a good thing that by the time that they returned to the Keep, Rowan was no longer wary of him.

However, Ondolemar quickly discovered that it isn't so, as Rowan no longer responded to anything that happens around him.

He had been dried off and cleaned up and is now sitting on his bed, staring into space.

He would not respond to any questions Ondolemar had for him.

The elf wondered what happened to him, to the man who he knew to be extremely cheeky and charming at the same time which turned him into this miserable visage, even less of a shadow compared to who he once was.

Ondolemar stopped trying to get him to talk after some time.

One of his guard brought some food for him from the kitchens, still as idiotically loyal as ever.

He briefly wondered how he got away with his half-assed explanation. He thought they would have more questions for the reason that he needed Rowan to be brought to his chambers instead of elsewhere.

Ondolemar carried the bowl of thin soup over to the bed, knowing that Rowan must be starving.

He didn't even pay any attention to the food.

Ondolemar tried to feed him then, not even thinking once how this action is so far beneath one of his station.

He was relieved when Rowan obediently ate when food was given to him.

He gave him some water next, not saying much himself as he did so.

Ondolemar tucked him in bed afterwards, feeling just as speechless as earlier when Rowan just laid in bed and stared at the ceiling.

He did close his eyes soon after and seem to fall asleep.

Ondolemar sat at his desk, feeling more troubled than ever that he couldn't focus on his reports.

Ice periodically burst out from his fingertips, freezing part of his documents when he tried to keep his thoughts under control.

He kept his hands at the back of his chair then, chewing the inside of his cheek as he worried.

Ondolemar could hardly think about his work over the next few days.

Other than eating and sleeping, Rowan seemed to manage his other needs fine on his own.

He'd gotten questions from his men and even the Jarl but quickly made up plausible excuses for them, fleeing when they become persistent.

Ondolemar sighed as he sat by the bedside, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

He tried to get Rowan to talk again but all the man did was stare at him with a pitying look.

Why is that? Isn't he the one who's supposed to pity Rowan instead of the other way round?

Ondolemar lowered his hands and reached for the bowl of stew.

"It's time to eat, Rowan," he said softly, spooning a piece of carrot and held it out towards the other man.

Rowan blinked lazily and looked down at the spoon.

Ondolemar was beginning to worry that Rowan had retreated even further inside of himself when he suddenly spotted tears welling up in his eyes.

"Rowan?" He exclaimed, drawing his hands back.

"Why..." Rowan croaked, the first word he said.

"Why, what?" Ondolemar said urgently, keeping his tone soft as he lowered the bowl of stew. "What happened?"

"Why," Rowan sniffed, tears falling from his eyes as he ignored Ondolemar's question. "Why can't it be you?"

Ondolemar stared at him in part concern and confusion.

_"Why can't I love you?"_

He felt another sharp pain in his chest, this time it was like something shattered inside of him.

Ondolemar stayed still and bit his lip as he tried not to let his heartbreak show.

Rowan wept openly, burying his face in his hands and letting out loud, ugly sobs.

Ondolemar could only stare at him wordlessly, his breathing growing heavy.

"Rowan-"

"Please stop being nice to me," he muttered into his hands. "I can't handle it."

Ondolemar stared at him and slowly placed the bowl of stew down.

He left his chambers shortly after.

* * *

When the elf returned a while later, Rowan was nowhere to be found.

He searched almost everywhere, even sending his guards to look for him to no avail.

It was as if he vanished without a trace.

Ondolemar still have no idea what happened to him but he had a feeling it had something to do with a lover of his.

He sighed, sitting at his desk after a tiring day.

Apparently, it was already dawn, as he could hear the dogs outside barking for their morning meals.

Ondolemar rubbed at his temples, trying not to feel like he's falling apart.

Eventually he was tired enough to fall asleep.

When he woke, he pulled open a drawer in his desk and felt around the back of it.

He found what he was looking for and pulled out an amulet of Talos, the one he'd been keeping for a few years.

Ondolemar pocketed it and went to the Dwemer museum, somehow slipping past the guards and the visitors unnoticed.

He made it to the balcony, where the waterfall roared underneath.

Ondolemar leaned on the balcony, listening to the rushing waters beneath.

He pulled out the amulet from his pouch and stared at it while it dangled from his fingers.

Then he let it go.


End file.
